


It's the Ears

by sinivalkoista



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Druid Merlin (Merlin), F/M, Fey Court, Gen, Hilarity Ensues, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Immortality, In a way, Light Angst, Magic Revealed, Oblivious Arthur, POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Parent Gaius (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), fey!merlin, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 72,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinivalkoista/pseuds/sinivalkoista
Summary: Arthur scrambled back in surprise as a figure sat up, shaking broken moss and bark out of its hair and sputtering nonsense.It was a human.Or Arthur thought it was a human. It had black hair, pale skin, and big ears.His eyes opened.They were made of a brilliant gold that looked as though it had survived a hundred centuries and could survive thousands more. Wisdom, unspeakable. Power, unbreakable.He was fae.“Why are you dollopheads all staring at me? Is there something wrong with my ears?”ORMerlin claims they've met before, but Arthur doesn't remember the pesky fae at all. He also can't figure out why he isn't dead yet or how to get the idiot to quit following him around.
Relationships: Freya/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 298





	1. Is There Something Wrong With My Ears?

**Author's Note:**

> Also on ff.net. Hoping to get all of this up soon!

As Merlin coughed and sputtered, powder puffed out of his nostrils in an annoying dust cloud that did not aid his fit.

“Blast it!” With a hand, he waved at the dust cloud. It hardened into pebbles and dropped to the ground, pelting at his boots. The dust in his nose, however, was still making his eyes water, so he pulled a hanky out of his pocket and blew into it loudly.

He glared down at the offending mushroom that poked out between the roots of an aged and withering oak tree. Although it might have looked innocent, he knew what it was: a magical pest that was slowly draining the life of the trees in the forest. 

With the heel of his boot, he kicked the top, but all the action served to do was kick more of the dust into the air as the mushroom rebounded back and forth again.

Gagging, Merlin used his neckerchief to cover his nose. “Blast it!” he choked out again before muttering several curse words under his tongue in the fae language.

The mushrooms exploded into the greatest cloud of them all.

Sometimes, Merlin had so much power he forgot he could use it until it was too late.

Hacking his lungs out, Merlin stumbled forward. If he could find the creek, he could rinse some of the powder of his eyes and be able to see and breathe the tiniest bit better.

Since he was holding the neckerchief over his nose and rubbing his powder-crusted eyes with his fist, Merlin failed to notice the tree root sticking out of the ground, and down he went.

For being the most powerful fae of them all, Merlin bemoaned to himself as he picked himself off the ground and tramped in a beeline towards the stream, he sure looked like an  _ idiot  _ at the moment.

As if they could sense his vexation with the fungus, the trees moved their branches out of the way, bowing slightly as he walked past.

“I’ve  _ told  _ you,” he muttered as he worked at the knot securing his neckerchief to his neck. “You don't have to do that.”

The trees ignored him. They always did whenever he tried to talk reason to him. Even though he was fae and his deepest desires came true with a gold wisp of magic, they refused to bend on that one point.

Which made Merlin wonder how he could be the most powerful fae to walk the earth and still not be able to convince a few hundred (or thousand) trees to call him by his first name instead of their dratted nickname for him.

_ Emrys.  _

“Oh, don’t start that again,” he said crossly as he knelt by the stream. “Next thing, you’ll have the juniper bushes doing it, too.”

“ _ Help, somebody help!”  _

At the call, Merlin’s ears perked, and his magic prickled as something unknown flared up. It wasn’t often that a human being came that deep into the woods. Merlin didn’t like strangers. They trampled on his plants, but most of the time, he ignored them. They were obnoxiously loud, scaring all of the animals half to death when they weren’t killing them or otherwise maiming them.

They didn’t usually call for him because they usually tried to kill him first.

“Help, I’m begging you!”

Merlin sighed and dipped his neckerchief into the stream. He supposed the quickest way to get the humans  _ out  _ of his woods was to get rid of their reason for coming there in the first place.

If his senses were anything to go by, the human and the smaller one would come crashing into the small clearing about the stream in approximately a minute. He supposed it could be a trap, but his magic told him that it was not. Something about the young one.

Straightening up, he wrang out the piece of fabric.

“Help!”

And there. A flash of silver, red, and gold.

It was a knight.

Merlin’s lip curled in disgust. He did not like knights. Ever since that Uther fellow became king of Camelot, they did nothing but trouble for the forest. Each week, Merlin healed about a dozen trees because of the escapades of his men or his subjects.

It was an older man, clad in chainmail. No horse. A sword at his waist.

But carried in his arms was a young boy, wearing a smaller version of the same armor. Blonde hair.

Merlin knew who he was instantly even without being introduced or seeing his likeness before.

Prince Arthur.

The Once and Future King, but a mere boy.

To see the damage, Merlin extended his senses.

A massive stab wound.

In surprise, Merlin recoiled until the water of the stream lapped at the sole of his boots.

“Please, you have to help me!” the knight begged, kneeling in front of Merlin and laying Prince Arthur on the grass. “I know you’re one of them. You can do it.”

Now that Arthur was lying right in front of him, Merlin could see the malady with his own eyes.

Blood was dripping from a wound in his shoulder, close to his neck, and Merlin guessed that he’d been stabbed. He could smell it, and his stomach rolled at the nauseating stench. The child had approximately one minute left to live, he estimated by the way he was losing blood and the life force was slowly draining out of him.

“Please, do something! I’ll give you anything! I’ll pay any price,” the knight begged Merlin again, desperation clawing its way through his voice. He lowered his eyes to the ground in front of him.

He must have assumed Merlin’s hesitation was due to a hatred for the human race.

For a moment, Merlin studied his face. It was wrinkled like shriveled up moss and tanned. Interesting. Merlin did not have the privilege of seeing age up close.

_ Emrys,  _ the trees reminded him.  _ You must save him. He is part of your destiny. _

“I know.” Merlin didn’t care if the knight thought Merlin was speaking to him or not. Carefully, he placed his neckerchief on a rock. “Please step back.”

After a brief hesitation, the knight obeyed Merlin.

Merlin replaced him at Prince Arthur’s side. Whenever he placed his hands on the young boy's chest, a shock flared through his fingers.

Yes, there was something peculiar...something. Yes, there was no doubt about it. This  _ was  _ the Once and Future King. His magic was never wrong.

Merlin began to chant a few words in the language of magic, and underneath him, his fingertips warmed.

_ It is all right,  _ the trees around the tiny clearing told him.  _ You will wake.  _

Humming under his breath as he let the words die out, Merlin did not respond. Power was draining out of him into Arthur, and the air was swirling with gold, the same shade of his eyes.

Arthur’s body ached underneath his fingertips.

Above the thrumming of magic buzzing in his (rather large) ears, Merlin heard the older knight shouting, so he briefly threw up a shield to keep the man from interfering when he was almost done.

Just a little bit more.

As the spell completed, Merlin shoved himself away from Arthur, whose body slammed into the ground, and the boy gasped, his eyes flying open.

“Prince Arthur!” 

As the shield dropped and the knight ran forward, Merlin rolled to the side and shakily stood to his feet, swaying.

“Thank you! I know King Uther persecutes-”

“Sir Frederick?” Arthur asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “What happened?”

Sir Frederick devoted his attention to the prince. “Bandits, Your Majesty.”

“Please go,” Merlin requested in a thin voice. The world was spinning. Light was fading from the sky. “Please leave my forest.”

“Thank you,” Sir Frederick repeated again, dipping his head before scooping Prince Arthur into his arms. “I don’t know how I can repay you.”

Merlin watched them go before stumbling into the trees.

_ You will wake again.  _

At the base of one of his favorite elms, Merlin sat. To him, it appeared to be twilight even though it was high noon.

But it was all right.

He knew that any normal fae would die from doing what he had just done. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. But he was Emrys, immortal, magic in fae kind. And when he knew the prophecies of the Once and Future King, eternal sleep was much better than eternal death.

The trees were right.

He would wake one day.

Sleep overcame him.

…

Arthur enjoyed hunting. There was something about the nearby forest that seemed to call him, whether it be the green atmosphere that was a welcome change from the drab walls of the castle to the thrill of the chase.

But it was never satisfying. No matter how good the hunt or sunny the day, Arthur always felt like he was missing something. 

“And then,” Gwaine said from behind him as their horses plodded along, “she slapped me on the cheek. I had a ruddy handprint on my cheek for three days!”

As he listened to the story, the corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched. 

“I’m sure you deserved it,” Percival told him.

Absentmindedly, Arthur scratched at an itch at the back of his skull with the hand that wasn’t holding onto the reins.

The itch did not go away. Instead, a low buzzing in the back of his mind joined it like a bee.

He frowned.

Gwaine broke off his story. “Oy, what’s got your knickers in a twist, princess?” 

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Let’s give the horses some water.”

Even though they were at least one hundred feet from the stream, he dismounted from his horse, and his knights copied him. With each step he took, the aggravating sensation in the back of his head grew.

It was almost as though the trees were trying to tell him something.

But that was impossible.

As he crossed the base of a particularly elegant and old elm, the buzzing amplified until it was almost unbearable.

“Are you all right, sire?” Percival asked him as he clutched his head, the other knights echoing the same concern.

Arthur stared at the tree’s roots. Along with the moss and vines, they took on a web shape as though they were almost hiding something. It was unnatural, almost as though the arrangement had been formed by magic.

Arthur had been brought up to fear magic. It was dangerous for him to explore whatever this disturbance was.

“Hand me a knife.”

After he felt the hilt pressed into his hand, he approached the roots. Something told him something was hiding under them.

With all of his muscle, he drove the knife into the bark and began to gradually strip away layers that had built up over the years. It took a bit of muscle, but Arthur  _ had  _ a bit of muscle.

Behind him, his knights muttered among themselves, and Gwaine asked him if he had a fever, but Arthur ignored them. With one hefty hack of the knife, a substantial section of the latticework caved in.

“What in the name of-” Sir Leon started behind him.

Arthur scrambled back in surprise as a figure sat up, shaking broken moss and bark out of its hair and sputtering nonsense. 

It was a human.

Or Arthur thought it was a human. It had black hair, pale skin, and big ears.

His eyes opened.

They were made of a brilliant gold that looked as though it had survived a hundred centuries and could survive thousands more. Wisdom, unspeakable. Power, unbreakable.

He was fae.

“Why are you dollopheads all staring at me? Is there something wrong with my ears?” 


	2. It's the ears, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind as you read this that I have *not* watched Merlin. My knowledge is based off excellent fanfictions by others that I have read.

Nobody (and especially not Arthur) knew how to deal with the fae who called himself Merlin.

It was strange, Arthur mused to himself as he sat dazed in front of the campfire Merlin had created with a bit of magic, but none of the knights had tried to kill the fae yet despite King Uther’s command to kill all fae.

Arthur, however, was certainly thinking of killing Merlin, powerful magic or no powerful magic. 

Around the campfire Merlin went scurrying, completing little tasks and chores and still managing to keep the stew dangling over the central fire from being burned. The knights were so shocked at the turn of events that they didn’t protest at anything Merlin did.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin.”

The shrieking sound continued unabated.

“Merlin!”

“Ohhh, my mother was a lass in-”

“MERLIN!” Arthur barked.

The knights looked up, and the horrid sound stopped. “Yes, prat?”

Arthur bristled.  _ Prat  _ seemed to be this fae’s favorite word, and he used it in connection to Arthur at every opportunity. “Back by the tree. You acted like you knew me. Have we met before?”

Arthur was ninety percent sure he would have remembered someone with glowing yellow eyes who was far from human.

“Oh, yes, we have, but you don’t remember. You weren’t awake at the time.”

“You were inside the castle?” Leon demanded.

“You were watching Princess sleep?” Gwaine marveled, taking a swig out of one of the water tankards. At least, Arthur was assuming it was water.

Merlin crouched down by the stew and used magic to stir it before giving an appreciative sniff. “Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve tasted stew. Tasted anything. No.”

Arthur waited, but Merlin offered up no further explanation. 

Amongst themselves, the knights muttered. From the log next to him, Gwaine leaned over and whispered, “I think he’s mad.”

“I think I’m mad,” Arthur snapped back. If he thought he could land a blow on the fae to make an escape, he would have tried. But he doubted he could, and apparently his knights were thinking the same thing.

It was impossible.

And Arthur wasn’t sure that this fae who called himself Merlin could be trusted.

Since childhood, Arthur had been told that fae were evil to the core of the beings. Although they appeared friendly and would offer assistance, they would kill a man in a heartbeat if they so much as hated the way hairs stuck out of his nose.

So Merlin could have been taking care of the horses and cooking the meal, but he could have been setting them up for a heavy dose of poison to send them all to a blissful eternal sleep.

Or he was luring them into a sense of peace and safety and finishing them off with his magic.

“Stew’s finished!” Merlin announced cheerily, breaking into their reverie as he carefully pulled the cast-iron pan off the fire - without touching pan - and dipped the ladle into it - without touching the cooking implement.

Magic.

Arthur shivered.

“Thank you,” Percival told Merlin as the fae handed him a bowl of stew.

Arthur crossed his arms whenever Merlin held out a bowl to him. “No, thank you.”

Merlin frowned and looked at the stew. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

Gwaine took a humongous slurp of his and promptly spat it out.

Uneasily, the other knights glanced at each other and then down at the bowls in the hands.

“I’ll say there’s something wrong with it!” Gwaine complained hotly. “What did you put in this? There’s no meat!”

Relieved, Merlin huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well, you didn’t expect me to kill one of the rabbits, did you?”

Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens. For the love of - Now he was convinced that Merlin was a mad fae. “This is a forest. What else do you expect to eat, the trees?”

Merlin’s face twisted in horror. “Of course not! They have feelings, too, you know.”

Percival and Leon exchanged looks while Gwaine simply raised his eyebrows while taking another swig of his “water.”

Arthur racked his head for some instance when he could have met Merlin, but he came up short. Perhaps it had been when he was a child - it looked as though it had taken many years for the tree roots to grow up around Merlin. Perhaps he had been so young that he had forgotten the instance or thought he had imagined it.

“So, Merlin,” Gwaine piped up, carefully holding his bowl of stew behind his back and letting a little dribble out, “when are you going to kill us, mate?”

Across the campfire, Arthur heard Leon suck in a breath. Inwardly, Arthur cursed Gwaine for putting the idea into Merlin’s head.

Oh, if his father could see them now, Camelot’s finest, falling into the hands of an evil-

Merlin burst out laughing.

Gwaine looked hurt. “It was an honest question, mate!”

“Kill you?” Merlin giggled as he set the stew back over the fire, a little sloshing over the side as he let the magic go a centimeter too early. “Why in fae would I want to  _ kill  _ you?”

A headache was beginning to form between Arthur’s eyes, pulsing like the flames of the campfire. It was supposed to be a camping trip. A nice excursion to the woods. A relaxing hunt with a warm meat dinner at the end.

Not this.

Whatever this was.

“Besides, blood is  _ nasty,”  _ Merlin went on. “The smell of it makes me want to gag.”

Arthur knew what this was. This was a nightmare.

…

In the morning, whenever they found Merlin missing and the campfire dead, Arthur ordered all of his knights to pack up at once to head back to the castle.

He did the only reasonable thing.

He swore them to utter secrecy about the events that had transpired, promising that whoever broke their promise would spend a week in the dungeons or the stocks.

Although he tried to sound confident in front of his men, his mind felt as though it had been dragged across the surface of a washing board over and over again.

Merlin. Fae. Magic. 

The fact that he wasn’t dead.

Even though he didn’t understand why this one fae had cast him under a spell, he did know that the fae were capable of that. They were tricky people. For all he knew, Merlin was plotting a takeover of the castle. For all he knew, Merlin was plotting to kill them all.

No, that couldn’t be true. The chance to kill the crown prince of Camelot had been placed in Merlin’s hands, and Merlin had passed it up. None of it made any sense.

For a moment, Arthur entertained going to Gaius and asking the aged physician for any knowledge of fae, but he quelled the idea as soon as it came up. If Gaius told his father about the questions, Uther would be furious with Arthur.

So asking Gaius was out of the question, and Arthur  _ definitely  _ knew going to Geoffrey and searching through the library was not an option, either.

It was a muddled mess in his mind, so he worked his frustration out with a bit of knife throwing in the courtyard in front of a crowd of servants and the people of the town.

_ Thunk. Thunk.  _

Every time one of the knives hit the wood of the target, a little bit of his frustration left him.

_ Thunk.  _

Until he was out of knives.

“Go get them for me,” he shortly told the nearest servant attending to him. 

“Yes, sire.” The boy scurried out to the shield Arthur was using.

While he waited, Arthur mimed throwing a knife, making sure to keep his wrist straight and use the correct form that he had learned as a boy. 

Arthur’s knives in hand, the servant stood. As Arthur let go of an imaginary knife, he flinched.

Arthur was overcome with annoyance. “What?” he called. “Are you a coward?”

Head bowed, the servant scurried back to him and handed him his knives carefully. “No, sire.”

Arthur  _ harrumphed.  _ “Pick up the shield.”

“My lord?”

Annoyed, Arthur repeated, “Pick up the shield.”

The surrounding spectators muttered to themselves, no doubt wondering what he was going to do.

Once the servant had picked up the shield, Arthur barked, “Now go back and forth or something. I want practice with a moving target.”

Visibly, the servant paled, but he didn’t  _ dare  _ disobey the crown prince of Camelot, and Arthur  _ knew  _ that. Blast it, if he couldn’t control a fae, he would at least have control in his own castle.

“Move!” With extra force, Arthur hurled the knife and the shield. As the metal blade sunk into the metal, the man ducked his head and bolted to the left. Quickly, Arthur took the next knife and hurled it after the first.

The servant let out a small cry of fright.

“Hey!”

Arthur almost dropped his third knife at the familiar voice.

Dread pooling in his stomach, he turned to face its source, wishing any of his knights were present although they wouldn’t have done any good.

Merlin.

His first thought was that  _ hullo, his eyes are blue instead of gold  _ before Merlin was speaking again.

“I think he’s had enough.”

The words slightly echoed around the quiet courtyard as the eyes of all of Arthur’s attendants and the spectators focused on the fae.

Arthur didn’t know whether he should feel afraid or annoyed that Merlin had shown up again inside the walls of the city, but his mouth was moving at a rate far faster than his brain. “Excuse me?”

He saw himself and the people in the courtyards struck dead by a single spell, a single wish, a single-

But Merlin was smiling as though it were a joke to him. “Listen, friend-”

Arthur’s blood boiled. He was tense, a string stretched to the limit, about to snap. A high-strung horse about to throw its rider. “I am  _ not  _ your friend.”

Merlin’s smile dropped. “Oh, right. I’d never be friends with such a  _ prat.”  _

The crowd gasped. 

Since Merlin wasn’t killing him yet, Arthur picked up a little confidence. Perhaps Merlin was a coward. “Do you know to whom you are speaking?” he demanded, stepping forward until he was glaring down at the shorter fae. “I am  _ Prince  _ Arthur.”

He was quite enjoying the looks on the faces of the crowd. They thought he was in control. 

Merlin’s face turned blank. “Oh.”

Arthur smirked and made to turn away from Merlin, hoping the fae would disappear and never show his face so he could sleep peacefully that evening.

But Merlin wasn’t finished. “Well, then. I’d never be friends with such a prat,  _ my lord.”  _

Arthur saw red. “Would you  _ care  _ to take his place?” he snapped. “Do you think that you are  _ better  _ than me?”

“I-”

“Someone get him a mace!” 

Arthur didn’t care if Merlin was ruddy fae, but he wasn’t going to stand there and be  _ insulted- _

Someone (Arthur didn’t know whom because he was too busy focusing on  _ Merlin  _ and how he was going to  _ beat  _ the insolent magic user until-) pressed a mace into his hand, and as soon as one was in Merlin’s, he took a swing at the fae.

Surprise on his face, Merlin ducked.

The rapidly growing crowd oohed and aahed as Arthur took more swipes at Merlin, his satisfaction growing as each blow nearly impaled the fae and Arthur drove Merlin towards the nearest work stall.

It felt  _ good  _ to cause this imputent magic user to think twice about taunting the prince of Camelot as he reared his hand back to swing his mace again.

Until Merlin gave him a wicked grin. 

For a flitting second, his eyes flashed gold.

Arthur tripped over a crate.

A crate that had not been in the path of his feet before as he collided with the ground.

Scooping up the mace’s grip, Arthur scrambled to his feet. 

A few feet in front of him, Merlin stood, grinning from big ear to big ear.

Arthur snarled and took another arching swing at him.

Another flash of gold. His mace caught in metal hanging from the ceiling of the shop.

If he kept at it, Merlin would keep humiliating it.

But he would also eventually drive Merlin from the safety of the shop, out to where he couldn’t use magic and Arthur could disarm him.

He did exactly that.

With one strike with all of Arthur’s might behind it, Merlin’s weapon went flying, and the smirk turned into surprise as Merlin realized he was without his magic (unless he wanted to expose himself and kill everyone) and was now at Arthur's mercy.

It was Arthur’s turn to grin wickedly.

…

With Merlin thrown in the stocks according to Arthur’s wishes, the day turned from sour to splendid. Nothing - not even the feast that evening - dampened his good mood. There was wine, excellent food prepared by Camelot’s finest chef, and plenty of laughter.

While Arthur was taking a particular deep sip from his goblet of fine wine, a movement to his right caught his attention. He glanced over and nearly spat out his drink.

Merlin was standing by one of the side doorways, his hands clasped behind his back and looking as though he were bored out of his mind.

A voice announced something over the clamor of the feast, but Arthur couldn’t tear his glare from the person who was  _ supposed  _ to be locked in the stocks.

Catching his gaze, Merlin cheekily winked at him.

“Arthur,” his father hissed from the chair at his left.

Arthur snapped his attention to the center of the feasting hall, where an attractive young woman was beginning to sing. He would have to deal with Merlin later.

Although he didn’t prefer singing over other forms of entertainment, her voice  _ was  _ as lovely as her face. Arthur racked his brain for her name but came up with nothing but a vague impression of Morgana mentioning her in passing.

Well, it didn’t matter, anyway. Her voice really was charming, like that of a mother singing her baby to sleep. All of those in attendance at the feast were laying their heads down and closing their eyes as cobwebs slowly crept over them.

Cobwebs. Something seemed wrong with the idea, but Arthur found he didn’t really care to figure it out.

He was tired. He should relax for a moment, the singer was telling him as she approached him, knife in hand. Everything was right and peaceful in the world.

As he rested his head against the back of his chair, he let his eyes lazily slide over to Merlin to see what he thought of the enchanting performance.

The fae wasn’t at the doorway. He was halfway to Arthur, and his eyes flashed gold.

Arthur blinked.

To his sluggish mind, several things happened at once as if in slow motion.

The chandelier fell from the ceiling.

Merlin tackled him.

A knife embedded into his chain in the place where his head would have been.

Then, the world snapped back to its normal pace. 

Shocked, Arthur stared at the knife as cries and other reactions of outrage broke out in the hall. Merlin helped him up, but he hardly noticed.

Magic. A fae woman, under the chandelier. Dead. The knife.

What in Fae was going on?

His father was saying something.

“As a reward, I hereby bestow a great honor on you and appoint you as Prince Arthur’s manservant.”

That was enough to snap Arthur out of his stupor. “What?” he demanded.

Merlin looked less than thrilled. “A great honor?”

“Father-” Arthur tried to protest, but Uther had turned away, calling for guards to cart the body away, and the hall erupted into applause, calls, and demands for more food to take away the shock.

His last manservant  _ had  _ been sacked.

Defeatedly, he turned back to Merlin and appraised the fae with a baleful eye.

A fae. As  _ his  _ manservant. Under Uther’s very nose.

It was like putting a mouse directly under a cat’s nose.

It was like volunteering to be the mouse.

“You don’t like me very much even if I  _ did  _ just save your life,” Merlin observed petulantly. “You  _ still  _ don’t trust me.”

“Shut up,” Arthur snapped, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and wondering if Uther would notice if he took his (full) goblet of wine.

Merlin carried on as though Arthur hadn’t spoken, shooting Arthur a shrewd look.

“It’s the ears, isn’t it?”


	3. Everybody Loves Merlin

Everyone liked Merlin.

Arthur could not understand it. Everyone  _ adored  _ his new manservant.

In the halls, the other servants called out to him. In the kitchen, the cook fussed over him as though he were the child from her own bosom. In the town, everyone greeted him and asked him how his mother was.

Arthur wasn’t even sure Merlin  _ had  _ a mother.

It was as though Merlin had cast a spell over all of them.

In his frustration, Arthur confronted him about it as Merlin sat on the floor in front of his armoire, polishing his boots.

“Did you cast a spell to make everyone admire you?” he demanded, crossing his arms as he towered over the fae.

“No, sire.” Merlin held up a boot half an inch away from his eye.

“Is it some sort of fae voodoo?” Arthur tried again, racking his brain for some of the information from his old tutor’s lectures.

“No,  _ sire.”  _ Merlin tutted at the boot. “ _ Really,  _ I don’t understand why you bother…”

Even though Merlin wasn’t looking at him, Arthur glowered. Although Merlin was answering all of his questions in theory, he really  _ wasn’t.  _ “Well, what is it, then?!”

Merlin dropped the boot to the floor and raised an eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t believe it happened to be my stellar and charming personality, now would you?”

Arthur huffed. “I’ve seen more charming personalities in wild dogs.”

At the word  _ dogs,  _ Merlin brightened. “Oh, dogs are nice. I haven’t seen one of those in a while. Do we have any dogs around here?”

“ _ We  _ do not.  _ I  _ do. Besides, I thought you wouldn’t like dogs. They  _ kill  _ things,” Arthur drawled.

With one long, pale finger, Merlin pointed at the boot. His eyes flashed gold.

The boot flashed clean, the irritating spot disappearing in an instant.

Arthur jumped back as though he’d been burned. He shivered. Seeing magic used so flippantly, so  _ mundanely,  _ in his very room… “Do  _ not  _ use magic here again,” he told Merlin coldly.

Merlin eyed him. “What are you going to do? Report me to your father and have me burned?”

He could not believe the audacity of the fae.

Brass jokes, Arthur reminded himself, it was this or brass jokes. “Just...don’t do it. Even if you  _ are  _ fae, you don’t have to constantly remind me of it! I would like to remind you that I have been trained since birth to  _ kill. _ ” 

“Oh, really, how long have you been training to be a prat?” Merlin threw his boots back in the wardrobe. “Anything else,  _ sire?”  _

Arthur refused to let this being of magic win. He nodded once. “Get my armor. The annual tournament is coming up. As defending champion, I want to be prepared.”

Merlin picked himself off the floor only to trip over the shoe-polishing equipment. “Defending champion of what? The biggest clotpole to walk Camelot?”

Instead of throwing him in the stocks for disrespect, Arthur shoved him out of the room.

…

Out in the training field, Arthur found the knights clad in armor, standing in a solemn circle.

“What are you waiting for?” he snapped.

Guiltily, they shifted from foot to foot until Leon spoke up. “It’s your new manservant, sire.”

Well, it was nice to know Merlin hadn’t turned  _ everyone  _ into bungling buffoons around him. 

“What about him?” Arthur asked, tugging his gauntlets into a nicer fit, even though he knew perfectly well  _ what about him. _

Before leaving the forest, Arthur had made all of them swear to never bring up the fae in conversation since they would never see him again. Now, however, the fae was living in the castle. It was their duty to turn him in to King Uther.

For the love of Camelot, it was  _ Arthur’s  _ duty to turn him in to his father. By not doing so, he was committing treason. But every time in the past several days he had made up his mind to do just that,  _ something  _ strongly deterred him.

“He is an...odd one…” Percival ventured.

Arthur believed he was going to be stuck with a permanent headache. “Yes. He isn’t quite like...others.”

Not like any other fae Arthur had seen. Usually, they cursed Camelot and were captured (and executed) with a bit of elbow grease, iron, and force. An unusual aura hung about Merlin, and if the knights couldn’t feel it, Arthur didn’t know how to explain it to them.

“Yes…”

“My father appointed him. I don’t think I can get rid of him without a fair shot or fair cause. He  _ is  _ rather like a leech.” 

Arthur hoped they understood the underlying message: Merlin was up to a game, and they were at no strength to figure out what it was. Bringing anything up with Uther would cause more harm than good. 

“We will keep an eye on him, my lord,” Leon vowed. “We humans are not as helpless against them as they would like us to believe.”

Arthur nodded.

Their circle was interrupted by urgent barking.

Quickly, Arthur scanned the courtyard only to spot Merlin exercising Arthur’s hounds. Although they normally tore across the courtyard on some quarry, they were now jumping up and down and attempting to lick Merlin to death.

The skin-and-bones fae didn’t stand a chance.

Blast it. It appeared that even the usually suspicious  _ dogs  _ adored Merlin.

When he managed to push the dogs out of his face, he spotted all of the knights staring at him. Cheerily, he waved.

All of them (sans Arthur) waved back.

“Are we going to just stand here?” Arthur said grouchily, “or are we going to train?”

…

Valiant.

Arthur stared at the piece of paper upon which he was supposed to be writing a report of the squires’ training for his father, but his mind refused to cooperate.

Valiant. If there was one person in the world that Arthur hated more than Merlin at that moment, it was he. And yet Arthur couldn’t help but give the man begrudging respect. He was dashingly courteous to Uther and Morgana, and he  _ was  _ skilled with the sword.

Almost as good as Arthur was.

Without realizing it, his fist clenched around the piece of paper, crumpling it.

“Anything wrong?”

Arthur jumped before realizing that it was just Merlin picking various items off the floor. He frowned at himself. It was surprising that he had forgotten Merlin was in the room whenever the fae cavorted around like a drunk reindeer. Even if Merlin kept him from a painful end by knife, he needed to keep his guard up. 

He was keeping an iron knife in his boot in case things soured.

“Shall I fetch the court physician?”

Arthur couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

Sometimes, Arthur had heard, fae took things too seriously, so he clarified. “No. I’m fine.” Tossing the crumpled sheet of paper over his shoulder (Merlin would pick it up - maybe he should have thrown it in front of him so he could make sure he wasn’t stabbed in the back), he reached for a fresh one. Clean, unmarred paper always helped Arthur think better.

Merlin began whistling.

The sound grated on Arthur’s already frazzled nerves. “ _ Mer _ lin, I would  _ appreciate  _ it if you went and did...whatever you servants do in your free time. Go muck the stables or something.” 

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Don’t you have stable hands to do that?”

“Get out.”

“It’s Valiant, isn’t it? That’s why you’re such a grump. You don’t like him.”

Well, Merlin didn’t have to sound so  _ happy  _ at the prospect. “Here.” Arthur thrust the sheet of paper at Merlin. “You fae are good with words. If you aren’t going to leave me alone, write my report for me.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking me.” Merlin titled his head to the side in a condescending manner. “Surely you don’t-”

Arthur pushed his chair back and propped his boots up on the table, drawing out Merlin’s protests. “You’d better hurry up,  _ Mer _ lin. I want my bath extra hot tonight.”

Merlin muttered something about boiling him alive. 

Arthur threw his goblet at him.

…

Arthur defeated his first opponent. 

Valiant defeated Sir Ewan.

Arthur trained harder.

The tournament continued.

…

Arthur stood rock still as Merlin put on his armor. It should have been a relatively easy task, but Merlin kept dropping the pieces of equipment as soon as he picked them up as he stared across the field at Arthur’s opponent.

“He looks like a bear,” Merlin commented as the other servant stepped on a stool in order to assist the fighter in putting on his helm.

“Yes. It means he’s as slow as one, too.” 

“Ah, and you’re fast.” Merlin nodded his head as though he had discovered a big secret. He stepped back from Arthur. “You nervous?”

Arthur snorted. “I don’t get  _ nervous.”  _ And he certainly wouldn’t admit it to one of the greatest enemies of the crown.

“Really? I thought everyone got nervous.”

“Will you  _ shut up?”  _

“Right.” Merlin ticked off his fingers as though he were taking stock of everything.

Not only was Merlin a ruddy fae, he was also incompetant at his job. “Aren’t you  _ forgetting  _ something? My  _ sword.”  _ Did Merlin expect him to go out there and beat his opponent black and blue with his fists?

“Oh, yeah. I suppose you  _ will  _ be needing that.”

Arthur snatched the sword out of Merlin’s hand. “I want you to go polish my boots.”

“I just did that,” Merlin complained. “Can’t you think of anything more creative?”

Arthur didn’t want Merlin around during the fight. He didn’t trust him. With one small bit of magic from the fae, Arthur could accidentally impale himself, and no one but the knights would question it. “Just do as you’re told.” He brushed past Merlin.

One more opponent. One more opponent before the final match.

…

Arthur defeated his adversary.

Valiant defeated his.

…

“His shield is enchanted,” Merlin blurted out just as Arthur was about to bite into one of his breakfast sausages.

Arthur spit it out. “Excuse me?” 

“Valiant’s shield is enchanted,” Merlin repeated again with more conviction. “Sir Ewan, the knight he fought-”

“I remember him,” Arthur interrupted. 

The knight was currently in Gaius’s chambers, recuperating from his bout with Valiant.

“He was poisoned.”

Momentarily abandoning the food, Arthur leaned back in his chair. “And what does that have to do with Valiant’s shield and enchantments?”

The word  _ enchantments  _ felt bitter on his tongue. To clear his mouth, he took a sip of wine.

“Snakes come out of it - I saw it - and bite his opponents.” 

Merlin looked at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur stared back at him.

“Well?” Merlin prompted. “Aren’t you going to do something? Call a council with the king? Arrest him?”

Arthur burst out laughing. 

Insulted, Merlin frowned at him. “Well, I’m glad you find it so amusing!”

“You expect me to believe  _ you?”  _ If Merlin thought that he had cast his spell over Arthur, he was  _ wrong.  _ “Valiant is a noble fighter. Even I can see it despite my dislike for him. He wouldn’t resort to using  _ magic  _ in Camelot.” The thought of it made Arthur snort as he brought his wine goblet up to his mouth to take another sip.

Merlin put his hands on his hips, a nasty glint entering his eyes. “Oh, really?

Over the top of his goblet, Arthur narrowed his eyes. “How would  _ you  _ know about this ‘enchantment’?”

“The snakes come out of his shield whenever he leans over his opponents.”

“I thought I told you to polish my boots. What were you doing  _ watching?”  _ A small spike of fear shot thought Arthur. He hadn’t wanted Merlin around - he should have told one of the knights to keep an eye on him. There was no  _ knowing  _ what the magic user would  _ do  _ if he had the chance.

“Uh…” Merlin’s face went blank.

Arthur clenched his teeth. He was so  _ stupid.  _ What if Merlin wasn’t lying about this enchantment and was involved? What if he was trying to cover up and lay the blame on someone else because a plan had gone wrong? What if he had done it himself and was trying to pin the blame on Valiant in order to lure Arthur into a false sense of security?

What was he supposed to do? Go along with it? Brush it off?

Stab the iron knife tucked safely in his boot through Merlin’s heart before Merlin could do the same to him?

He settled for something less risky.

“Quit trying to cause trouble,  _ Mer _ lin.” 

Merlin frowned. “You think I’m lying? I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

“Unless the old wives’ tale is true and you fae can’t speak a false word, yes. Yes, I do think you’re lying.” 

The longer Merlin stood there, motionless, the more courage Arthur collected, but he still wanted Merlin out of the room. “Go fetch me another plate. I’m rather famished.”

Merlin glared at him. For a brief moment, Arthur thought the morning light cast gold over his eyes, but in the next second, it was gone.

“You think I’m  _ lying.” _

Arthur thought it was rather ridiculous that Merlin said it as though it were impossible. He brandished his fork at Merlin. “Get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you until the tournament is over. If any of my men see you near the field…” He let the threat dangle. He wasn’t sure what his men were capable of doing to Merlin when he didn’t know what Merlin was capable of yet.

“Fine.” Merlin slammed the wine pitcher down on the table. “Fine,” he repeated. “We’ll see who’s right.”

He stormed from the room.

For a minute, Arthur sat there, wondering if he was going to find himself dead by fae than by sword, until someone knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

Gwaine poked his head into the room. “You told us to keep an eye on Merlin, right?”

Arthur’s blood froze. “Why? What did he do?” he barked, his mind flying through a dozen scenarios of what an enraged fae would do.

Most of them included corpses.

“He’s gone ruddy insane, that’s what he did. He just asked me where he could find the nearest animal statue and some dead rats!”

…

Arthur’s back was digging into the wall of the arena. Valiant loomed over him.

He could see the spittle flecking around the other man’s lips and the malice in his eyes.

Merlin was right.

Arthur shoved him off and skittered around him, hoping to get back to his sword, but Valiant cut him off. 

Behind him, Arthur caught a glimpse of a lanky figure with raven hair waving his arms at Arthur.

Merlin.

Blast it. What was he doing there? Was he hoping Valiant was going to end Arthur now that he was disarmed?

As Arthur waited, tense, on the balls of his feet, Valiant began to approach him slowly, swinging his sword around in a wide arc. He was  _ enjoying  _ it,  _ savoring  _ the revealing of the watching crowd. Savoring Arthur’s pending loss.

Arthur ground his teeth, putting more distance between them in case Merlin was right  _ again  _ in that the snakes came out only when Valiant was near.

He wasn’t sure whom to trust. At that moment, trusting no one-

As Valiant was approximately three feet away from Arthur, snakes erupted out of his shield.

The change was instant.

“What? I didn’t summon you!” Valiant screamed at the snakes, staring down at his shield as they protruded farther, hissing and spitting.

“Magic!” Uther roared.

“Arthur!” Morgana cried. In the stands, there was a flurry of activity behind him.

Arthur looked up in time to reach out and catch the sword she tossed him. With one powerful stroke of the sword, he dove forward and sliced the heads off two of the snakes.

Stirring up dust, they hit the ground, spewing blood over Arthur.

The last snake was coming out of the shield, Valiant screaming at it, urging it on.

Arthur reversed the blow.

Ignoring the snakes’ corpses, he attacked Valiant with renewed vigor.

Without the confidence of the crowd and his snakes, Valiant was nothing.

“Kill him!” Uther yelled. 

After disarming him, Arthur ran him through.

Valiant’s body slid off the end of Arthur’s sword to join the bodies of his snakes on the ground.

Over him, Arthur stood, panting, as the crowd screamed their approval over the end of the match. After wiping off his sword on Valiant’s cloak and sheathing it, he swept the hair out of his eyes and looked at where he had last seen Merlin.

Merlin grinned at him, gesturing to the bodies of the snakes as if Arthur wasn’t aware that he had just killed them.

Slowly, Arthur walked over to him. In front of his manservant, he stopped, crossing his arms. He wasn’t sure what to say (accusing Merlin, thanking Merlin, banishing Merlin all crossed his mind), but Merlin filled the gap.

“Well, it’s not every day a fae gets to save a prince!” he declared. “Still think I’m lying?”

“I didn’t need saving,” Arthur corrected. “I’m sure I would have thought of something.”

He, not Merlin, had killed Valiant and the snakes. He  _ was  _ Camelot’s champion. Merlin was a fae from the woods. There  _ was  _ a bit of skill involved. 

Somewhere.

The idea that he was dependent on a fae to save his life was revolting.

Merlin scowled. “So you’re too proud to admit you were saved by a fae?  _ Again? _ ”

“Because I wasn’t.” Arthur wasn’t about to give Merlin any bit of ground. He didn’t even know if Merlin was pretending in order to earn his trust when he wouldn’t even tell Arthur where they had met before. “Help me take this armor off. By the way,  my chambers are a complete mess. My clothes need washing. My armour needs repairing. My boots need cleaning. My dogs need exercising again. My fireplace needs sweeping. My bed needs changing. And someone needs to muck out my stables.”

At least then he would know the fae wasn’t up to no good if he was busy.

Merlin sputtered. 

…

The next morning, Arthur woke up to a ferocious beast that looked suspiciously like one of the dog statues outside the castle trying to bite off his nose.

“ _ Merlin! Get this beast off me!”  _

He twisted and turned in his bed sheets, trying to escape it. Its slobber dripped off onto his face.

“ _ Merlin!” _

“Oh, sorry,  _ sire _ . I thought you didn’t need saved by a lying  _ fae.  _ Anyway, I’m a little busy. I’ve got to clean your chambers and your boots and your clothes and repair your armor and exercise your dogs and sweep your fireplace and change your bed and muck out your stables and-”


	4. At least I don't have big ears

Arthur’s quest to find out where he and Merlin had met before was (despite its noble nature) failing.

“Was it at a feast? Michaelmas?” he drilled Merlin. A lot of the gentry came to Camelot of Michaelmas, hoping to catch the king in a generous spirit. Merlin could have been one of them.

“No. How could I have been at a feast? I was sleeping under a tree.”

And sometimes, Arthur had wished he’d stayed there.

“How could we have met before, then?” Arthur countered. “If you were sleeping under a tree.”

“Yes, that  _ is  _ a good question.”

Arthur gave a quick, forceful sigh of frustration as he hurried up the stone steps. Could Merlin be any  _ vaguer?  _ It was easier to get information out of Morgana when she was furious with him than out of a fae. “I don’t see why-” He waited as the guards opened the castle door for them. “You just won’t tell me.” To him, there was no conceivable reason besides being infuriating.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, sire.”

As he pulled off his gloves, Arthur huffed. “Right. Magician.” 

“My lord!”

Both he and Merlin stopped at the servant’s cry. Impatiently, Arthur turned around and waited for the man to catch up to them.

“My lord!” the servant repeated, bowing in front of Arthur once he came to a stop.

“Well, what is it?” Arthur demanded. He wanted a chance to return to his chambers for a bath before dining with his father that evening and to ditch Merlin so he wouldn’t have to be on guard the entire time. Merlin always took twice as long to drag up the bathwater as any servant he’d ever encountered, and he was positive Merlin was sneakily using magic to keep it boiling hot every evening.

“Your father requests that you join him for a council meeting, sire. It is quite urgent.”

Arthur frowned. If his father couldn’t mention whatever the issue was to Arthur at dinner, it was definitely serious. “You are dismissed.”

The servant trotted off.

“Would it hurt you to say thank you every once in a while?” Merlin muttered under his breath as Arthur turned to make for his chambers once more.

“I’ll thank you to shut up,  _ Mer _ lin.” He wanted to change out his sweat-covered shirt before meeting with his father, and while he was at it, he needed to decide what to do with Merlin. Although it wasn’t uncustomary for a manservant to accompany him to meetings as such, the manservant wasn’t usually a potentially violent magic user.

Would it be safer for Merlin to be roving about the castle or in a room full of guards, the king, and Arthur himself?

Definitely the latter, he decided as he entered his rooms and Merlin crossed over to his wardrobe. 

“You are to come with me.” He caught the shirt Merlin selected for him. He didn’t trust Merlin enough to help him dress yet. It would be way too easy to choke a fellow that way.

Even if he did end up helplessly tangled trying to figure out which of the four holes his head was supposed to go through.

Wisely, Merlin didn’t push him for once, and he kept his mouth shut as he followed Arthur back to the council room.

Before entering, Arthur turned to him. “Stay in the back and don’t say  _ anything.”  _

“All right, sire.”

Good. Merlin might actually obey him for once.

When Arthur entered, his father and Gaius were waiting for him. As Merlin moved to the outskirts of the room and Arthur bowed, he surveyed their faces.

His father’s was always stoic if not filled with rage, but Gaius looked uncustomarily grim.

“What is going on?” Arthur asked, taking a seat in one of the thick, ornamented chairs.

Uther did not waste any time. “As you know, King Bayard of Mercia will be arriving within a few weeks in order to formalize the treaty between us.”

Arthur nodded. He had been aware of the visit for at least a month. “Has there been a problem?”

“There’s been an outbreak, sire,” Gaius piped up, “of unknown origins.”

“An outbreak? Of what kind? What does it look like?” he asked sharply. Out of all things to go wrong, an outbreak was the last of them.

And it was on the list of Things to Avoid at All Costs behind  _ fae.  _

Gaius hesitated before proceeding as though he were choosing his words carefully. “The victims’ eyes glass over, and their skin turns a bluish thing. So far, I haven’t had the opportunity to examine one of the patients alive.”

This was nasty. What he described was unfamiliar to Arthur, and if there was no cure…

Camelot could forget welcoming King Bayard. 

“Gaius is attempting to figure out the source, but for now, this needs to be kept quiet so as to not cause needless panic,” Uther said, his voice dark. He only used that tone when he was referring to…

“Do you think it was caused by…”

Neither Gaius nor Uther answered Arthur, but their faces turned more severe.

Arthur sucked in a breath, his eyes flicking to Merlin (who was yawning) before returning to Uther. “My knights and I will do all we can to aid Gaius.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Slowly, Gaius rose to his feet. “If you will excuse me, my lord, but I have patients to attend to.”

It took every ounce of Arthur’s will power to wait until his father informed him of other duties to complete and dismissed him and he and Merlin were out of the room before he grabbed Merlin by one large ear.

“Hey!” Merlin cried. “What are you doing?!”

Ignoring his protests, Arthur dragged Merlin all the way back to his chambers before sending him crashing to the floor in a heap.

“What was that for!” Merlin cradled his ear. “That hurt!”

“Did you do it?” Arthur demanded, snatching a knife from his desk and pointing it at Merlin. “Did you curse those people?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Merlin protested. “Why would I do that?”

“Why do you do  _ anything?”  _ Arthur’s blood pounded through his ears. HIs brain was telling him to attack Merlin, but the more logical side of his mind reminded him that Merlin couldn’t undo the curse if he was dead.  _ “If _ you didn’t do it, then who  _ did?”  _

Merlin frowned sourly at him. “Just because you don’t have another fae within knife throw doesn’t mean you have to blame me. If I were trying to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

Arthur snorted.

Merlin threw his hands up in the air. “What do I have to do to prove I’m not trying to kill you? Drink poison?”

Alarm shot through Arthur. Could Merlin poison him?

Wait. He needed to focus. “If you’re not the one who did it, then find the fae who did,” he demanded. It was the only logical solution.

“Oh, so we’re assuming it’s a fae,” Merlin grumbled.

“I don’t want to hear it from you,” Arthur snapped. “You’re not exactly in the best light right now.”

“Of course,  _ sire _ . I’ll solve the plague,  _ sire _ . Would you like an extra leg of lamb with that,  _ sire?”  _

…

Arthur spent the next few days as tense as Cook around a holiday. He didn’t know whether to be glad the plague didn’t cease immediately because it meant Merlin (probably -  _ maybe)  _ wasn’t the cause or worried that Merlin wasn’t fixing it.

“In light of what Gaius told you, do you need us to make sure Merlin doesn’t cause any further trouble, sire?” Percival asked him quietly as they stood, watching the squires train, clasping and unclasping the hilt of his sword.

“No.” Arthur didn’t take his eyes off them. “Not yet.”

Percival shook his head at Elyan across the field, who turned around and said something to Leon.

“Arthur!”

Ah. Speaking of the devil. Just the person he wanted to see.

_ “Prince Arthur,”  _ he corrected, turning around. “And where have _ you  _ been?”

“Where have I been?” Merlin glanced at Percival and gave him a smile.

Never mind. He wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of him, anyway, so Arthur moved on. “I want a word with you, Merlin.”

“Oh, good, I need to talk to you, too.”

Percival cleared his throat. “Should I leave, sire?”

“No,” Arthur answered at the same time Merlin said, “Yes.”

Arthur ignored him. “Merlin, I thought I told you to sharpen my  _ sword.”  _

Briefly, Merlin’s idiodic happy expression faded. “Yes, but-”

“You can’t weasel your way out of this one. I was forced to borrow Elyan’s.” Arthur despised using other knights’ weapons unless he was forced to by dire circumstances. Merlin’s laziness was  _ not  _ a dire circumstance. 

Percival shifted uncomfortably.

“But Arthur-”

“You can tell me all about it while I watch you.” 

“But-”

“Come on,  _ Mer _ lin.” 

As Arthur dragged him away, Percival shot him an indecipherable look. 

“It would only take a few minutes!” In order to keep up with Arthur’s longer paces, Merlin trotted behind him, trying to yank his arm out of Arthur’s iron grasp.

“And so would sharpening my sword.” As soon as they were back in his rooms, he released Merlin, dropped himself into his chair, and jerked his chin at his sword, which was resting in the corner.

Hesitantly, Merlin approached it.

“Go on,” Arthur prompted.

Gingerly, Merlin picked up the sword by the pommel.

“Hurry it up,” Arthur groused. 

“Do I have to?”

“ _ Yes.”  _ Arthur made sure his tone was cold and held no room for argument. He wasn’t going to let Merlin become even  _ more  _ lazy and get out of a little bit of work. 

After shooting a last half-pleading look at Arthur, Merlin grabbed the whetstone and carefully ran it along the edge of the sword.

Satisfied, Arthur leaned back. “Now. What is  _ so  _ important that you felt the need to interrupt the training session to tell me about it?”

Merlin dropped the sword with a sharp clang.

Startled, Arthur half rose. “Hey! Careful with that!”

With his body, Merlin shielded Arthur’s view of the sword. “I figured out what’s causing the sickness.”

Arthur forgot about the sword. “Yes?” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. “What?”

The stone scrapped softly against the metal of the sword. “The city’s water supply. Something’s poisoning it.” 

Something...or someone? “And?” There had to be more to it.

Merlin looked at Arthur over his shoulder. “That’s it.”

“You mean you didn’t find out the source?”

“...No?”

Arthur slammed a fist on the table. “You didn’t think to investigate it any further  _ at all?  _ What kind of a dimwit  _ are  _ you?”

“I’ve been a little busy!” Merlin protested. “I thought you and your knights would want to investigate it. I don’t think it’s simply a bad case of mud poisoning. I’ve got a  _ feeling. _ ”

“Don’t be such a  _ girl.”  _

“You would feel the same way if  _ you  _ had magic.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I  _ don’t,  _ then.” Arthur ran though possible scenarios in his mind. “What do you think caused it? Fae?”

There was a period of silence filled only by the whetstone before Merlin shortly answered, “Yes.”

_ Ha!  _ Arthur  _ knew  _ it. It was as his father suspected. He relaxed. “Well, then. You can try your hand at it first.”

“What?”

“You heard me, you idiot. Do I have to spell  _ everything  _ out?” If a homicidal fae was lurking down there, Arthur wasn’t going to send his men below to their deaths. “You  _ go  _ before someone  _ actually  _ important dies.”

Arthur tried to ignore the murderous  _ shring  _ of stone against metal.

…

Furious pounding on Arthur’s door started him awake. “Wha-” He detached a piece of paper from his face and ran a hand over it to clear his head.

“ _ Arthur, let me in!”  _

“Morgana?” Arthur pushed himself out of his chair and hurried to unlock the door.

She barged into the room and marched over to his desk. “Arthur, you’ve got to go speak with Uther. Do something.”

“Do something about what? Is it Merlin?”

“What? No!” Morgan whipped furiously around to face him. “It’s my maidservant, Gwen. Her father came down with the illness, but something healed him. Now Uther is accusing her of fae blood!”

…

Arthur opened his mouth to bed his father to investigate further, to say Gwen couldn’t possibly be fae, to put off the execution,  _ anything  _ because Morgana would have their heads if Gwen was killed, but another voice echoed out across the council room before he could utter a syllable.

“I’m the one who’s part fae, not her. I healed him.”

Merlin. Of all people.

“Arrest him!” Uther thundered.

Arthur didn’t know where Merlin’s loyalties lay, but he did know that Merlin, not Gwen, was a fae and that out of all of them, he was the one most able to put an end to the problem.

And he couldn’t do that if he was charcoal.

“Father, wait.”

All eyes turned on him.

“My manservant doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He has a mental affliction.” Slightly panicking, he ran through a mental list of what exactly mental afflictions Merlin could have besides plain  _ ineptitude.  _

From his place beside the king, Gaius raised an eyebrow at him.

An idea hit Arthur.

“He’s in love!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out. “With Gwen.”

Instantly, the guards relaxed, and the advisors around the table tittered, covering their mouths with their hands and giving each other sly smiles.

“What? I am not!”

Arthur guffawed. “I saw them making eyes at each other yesterday, and then there was that flower she gave him…”

Uther looked disgusted. “Get him out of here. We don’t have time to waste on lovesick  _ fools _ .”

Arthur gave a small laugh. “Oh, it’s the stocks for him for sure. He won’t waste your time again, Father.” Without looking back, he manhandled Merlin from the room. As soon as the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, he turned on Merlin, gripping the fae’s shoulders firmly. “What were you thinking?”

Huffing, Merlin jerked himself out of Arthur’s grasp. “I was telling the truth! I can’t let them execute Gwen!”

Arthur really needed to tell Morgana to keep Gwen away from Merlin. “That was  _ not  _ the way to go about it.”

Merlin shot him a quick grin. “I didn’t know you cared about me, sire.”

Realizing his mistake, Arthur crushed the notion as quickly as possible. “I  _ don’t.  _ At the moment, you are the only expendable person in this castle who can fix the water problem, and you can’t do that bound in irons and burning.”

Merlin’s smile evaporated.

Well, Arthur didn’t have the time to worry about Merlin’s hurt feelings. Nor did he want to. “If you  _ really  _ want to help Gwen like you say, you’ll bring me the corpse of whoever’s responsible.”

Merlin’s jaw tightened. “Fine. If that’s what I have to do.” He marched towards the nearest door that led out of the castle. Just before opening it, he turned back to Arthur. “You really are a prat, you know?”

Arthur waited for the door to click shut before muttering, “At least I’m not a fae. Or have big ears.”


	5. I think he's finally starting to like me

When Arthur awoke, the stench hit him.

It smelled like something had  _ died.  _

Blearily, he propped himself up on his elbows.

At the end of the bed, Merlin leaned against the post, his elbow against the wood and his fist mushed into his pale cheek.

Arthur’s eyes traveled down until they rested on the source of the odor.

A corpse of some creature, leaking blood out all over the floorboards.

“Merlin! Fie, what did you  _ do?  _ Quit staring at me like that!”

Merlin did not budge. “I brought you the corpse, sire.”

“I didn’t mean so literally!” Tossing the sheets aside, Arthur scrambled out of bed to get as far away from it as possible.

Merlin shrugged with one shoulder.

“How the fae did you get it up here - wait, I don’t want to know.” It was probably highly illegal. Arthur plugged his nose. “Take it back.”

“What?”

“You heard me, you ruddy idiot. Take the corpse back.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Merlin asked lazily.

Arthur could smell it through his plugged nose. “Because it will look  _ highly  _ suspicious if I claim the knights and I killed it if it’s sitting on my blasted floor, that’s why.”

“You might want to look away, then,” Merlin advised. 

Snatching the knife from underneath his pillow, Arthur turned around. After a few seconds of scratching and thudding, he called out, “Merlin?”

The fae grunted.

“You still have to scrub the blood off my floor.”

…

Arthur was in a good mood.

The plague was stopped. Gwen was released. King Bayard arrived. The treaty was signed.

And Arthur was going to make Merlin look like a fool.

“Congratulations, Merlin! You’re to attend the feast!” he announced.

Sleeves rolled up, Merlin looked at him expectantly as he dunked a rang into the bucket of water. “Oh, really? Aren’t you afraid I’m going to poison everyone and make off with your entire gold and mead supply?”

“Hardly. One drink and you’d topple over.”

Merlin snorted. “ _ You’re  _ in a fantastic mood today.”

“Catch.” He gave Merlin barely enough time before he threw the bundle of cloth at him.

Easily, Merlin snatched it out of the air. He eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

This was the good part. Arthur smirked. “Your  _ serving  _ outfit, of course.”

As Merlin uncrumpled it, his eyes widened. “Oh, fie, no. This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen - and I’ve been looking at you all morning.”

Evilly, Arthur laughed. “Oh, and that’s not even the best part!”

“The  _ best _ part?”

Taking great pleasure in Merlin’s apprehension, Arthur removed the hat from behind his back.

Merlin took one look at it and cursed.

…

Arthur’s good mood remained elevated  _ despite _ Merlin staring at him like a murderous pigeon.

For the evening, Uther had brought out the better wine (or so he’d been told - the customary toast had yet to commence), and Cook had outdone herself. The tempting aroma of roasted meat danced through the air, replacing the memory of the carcas’s smell from a few days prior. The guest list had not been thinned. Arthur spotted several people he knew, including Sir Frederick, one of Uther’s retired knights. Sir Frederick had been one of his favorites when Arthur was a boy.

With an odd sensation in his gut, Arthur noticed that Sir Frederick was openly staring at Merlin to the point of embarrassment. Was Sir Frederick suspicious that Merlin was fae? Immediately, Arthur went back through the entire evening up to that point. Wanting to enjoy Merlin’s discomfort to the maximum, he had been watching his manservant fairly frequently.

No, he didn’t think Merlin had done anything out of the ordinary except “charm” a buttered roll from one of the nastiest and grouchiest serving girls. And the one time when he had started whistling and making an infernal racket.

No, for once, Merlin was being perfectly normal.

And it didn’t explain  _ why  _ Sir Frederick was frowning at Merlin and scratching his beard as though he were trying to solve a riddle and was on the verge of a breakthrough. Arthur prayed for a distraction - he did  _ not _ need a scandal on his hands.

As if hearing his mental plea, the double oak doors at the end of the hall swung open.

As a small (not  _ too  _ impressive - Uther  _ was  _ king in Camelot) fanfare rang, Arthur stood along with Morgana and Uther. A servant rushed a small table out, balancing a quill and a long scroll on top. Taking turns, Uther and Bayard signed the document before the servant removed them.

“People of Camelot, for a great many years we have been mortal enemies, and the blood of our men stains the ground from the walls of Camelot to the gates of Mercia. And though we remember those who have died, we must not allow any more to join them!” Bayard declared, gesturing with his hands. Another servant girl brought forth an intricately carved wooden box, which she flipped open. “As a symbol of our goodwill, and of our newfound friendship, I present these ceremonial goblets to you, Uther, and to your son, Arthur, in the hope that our friendship may last.”

As wine was poured, Arthur offered up a smile. The goblets themselves, of course, would be used once before being moved to storage, but it was a nice gift.

“To peace!” King Bayard cried. 

“To peace!” Uther repeated, elevating his glass. 

As the words rang across the hall, Arthur copied them and then brought the goblet to his lips. At the rate he’d taken to drinking wine with Merlin around, he was going to become as bad as an alcoholic as Gwaine, and that was -

“Stop!”

The dark red liquid almost sloshed over the rim of the cup and onto Arthur’s shirt.

Abandoning his post against the wall, Merlin strode forward. “You can’t drink that. It’s poisoned.”

“What?” Arthur choked.

“This is an outrage!” Bayard’s face was turning red. “Who is this boy?”

“Someone get him out of here!” Uther growled. The knights - both Mercian and Camelot’s - unsheathed their swords. “Order your men down, Bayard.”

“No!” Before Arthur could react, Merlin snatched the goblet from Arthur’s hand as Arthur stared at him in shock. “It’s poisoned. I swear it.”

What in fae was Merlin trying to  _ do _ ? It didn’t make sense that Bayard would try to kill him in front of the entire Camelot court. Arthur kept his gaze on Merlin’s eyes to make sure they didn’t flash gold. 

It would just be like a fae to start a war.

“I will not let this insult go unchallenged,” Bayard seethed, crossing his arms.

“Very well.” Uther raised his chin. “If he swears it, then the boy shall drink it.”

This was ridiculous. “Father, no,” Arthur protested. “My manservant is just a dim-witted fool with a taste for alcohol. I’ll drink it.”

“I refused to have this slight upon my honor,” King Bayard spat, his grip on his own goblet white.

“The boy shall drink it,” Uther reiterated. “If it is safe, then you shall do to him whatever you like. If not…I will have the pleasure of killing you myself.”

Arthur could not understand why Merlin would accuse Bayard of such a thing when he  _ knew  _ there was nothing wrong. Why would Merlin put himself in the hands of an angry visiting king after provoking him?

“I’ll drink it.” Without further ado or hesitation, Merlin toasted them and downed the goblet’s contents before Arthur could wrench the metal vessel from his hand.

Arthur found himself hardly breathing as he stared at Merlin - his eyes remained blue, still blue, only-

“It’s fine,” Merlin announced. “Guess I was wrong.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as Bayard and Uther relaxed. That  _ idiot.  _ Whatever he got was whatever he deserved.

“I guess you were,” Bayard sneered, turning around to signal his knights. Apologetically, Merlin smiled at Arthur.

Arthur glared at Merlin. He was going to  _ kill _ his manservant. How dare that pesky, insolent fae embarrass him in front of-

Merlin began choking.

Gradually, as though he was “clearing his pipes,” but the sound grew until it echoed about the eerily quiet feasting hall.

He grabbed his throat.

“Merlin?” In disbelief, Arthur blinked.

Merlin staggered backwards and collapsed.

His head cracked against the floor. The goblet rolled away from his fingers, hitting the floor with a  _ ting,  _ the rest of the blood-colored wine leaking across the floor.

Gaius reacted a second before Arthur. The older man stooped over Merlin, blocking Arthur’s view, before yelling, “Quickly, someone help me get him to my chambers.”

Sir Frederick pushed back his chair.

The feasting hall was a madhouse.

Gwen rushed forward to scoop up the cup. Although Arthur was closest, Sir Frederick beat him to Merlin’s prone form on the ground. Together, they lifted him up. For the moment, his father wouldn’t care; Uther was too busy securing the room.

Fie, Arthur had never been this close to Merlin before. Unsurprisingly, he was rather light, but he smelled of pine and cedar trees instead of unwashed peasant. Already, Arthur could feel the heat of a fever in the fae’s skin.

Thrice, they nearly dropped Merlin.

Arthur tried not to think about the wine.

Once at Gaius’s chambers, the court physician opened the door, barking, “Put him on my cot.”

As swiftly as possible, Arthur and Sir Frederick obeyed. Now that there was no burden, neither of them knew what to do. Dumbly, the pair of them stood on either end of the cot, staring down at Merlin as Gwen and Gauis rushed around, grabbing tinctures, water, and rags. 

“It really i _ s _ him,” Sir Frederick muttered.

Arthur’s head snapped up. Even if it was difficult to process why Merlin would drink a ruddy cup of poison, he  _ could  _ focus on this. “What do you mean?” he asked sharply, surveying the elder man.

Sir Frederick shook his head as though he were clearing cobwebs. “Nothing, my lord.”

“No...you’ve been staring at my manservant all evening. You know him. I want to know from where.”

Merlin started thrashing.

Gwen rushed over to him. “Merlin, it’s all right.”

“Art’ur,” Merlin mumbled. “Art’ur.”

“How do you know Merlin?” Arthur pressed, crossing his arms. He wasn’t going to budge until Sir Frederick answered him.

“Honestly, Merlin is  _ dying!”  _ Gwen snapped. “Could you act a bit more decent?” As she realized whom she was reprimanding, she reddened. “I mean - I’m-”

“Art’ur,” Merlin muttered again. “Prat.”

Everyone ignored him.

Swiftly, Gauis crossed the room. “Pull back his sleeve. I need to see something.”

Sir Frederick cleared his throat. “If you will allow me, my wife-” For an older man, he made a shockingly fast beeline for the exit. Arthur would corner him later - perhaps he could indebt himself to Morgana and ask her to invite Sir Frederick and his wife to join her for a tea party that Arthur could crash.

Then again, Morgana despised tea parties.

Gwen gasped, drawing his thoughts away from his scheming. “Is his arm supposed to look like that? Gaius?”

Gwen was blocking his view, so Arthur moved to the side to catch a glimpse of what she was talking about. He let out a soft exclamation.

Merlin’s pale white skin was covered with red dots. Arthur’s eyes traveled down from the fleshy part of Merlin’s forearm to his thin (a twig would have been thicker) wrist and to his hand.

Merlin’s palm and fingers were burned.

They didn’t look like any burn wounds Arthur had seen on human flesh - the skin was red and dark brown and black and ugly. To him (and by their reactions, to Gwen and Gaius as well), it was the nastiest burn he had ever seen.

Arthur didn’t understand.

“My poor boy,” Gaius muttered, brushing a withered hand over Merlin’s sweaty forehead before returning to his pestle.

“What happened to his hands?” Gwen asked, horrified, as she checked the other one. 

Arthur racked his head for any out-of-the-ordinary accidents that Merlin had gotten unto but came up short. There was a ridiculous number. Merlin was always dropping his armor and his sword and-

It hit him.

His armor and sword. They were made of metal. Metal burned fae. For the past week or so, Merlin had been  _ burning  _ himself to complete chores for  _ Arthur.  _ Even though Merlin had complained at having to do the work, never once had he mentioned that it was  _ hurting  _ him.

And Arthur had known that metal was a curse to fae. It hurt them. It weakened them.

He remembered the half-pleading look Merlin had sent him when he’d forced Merlin to sharpen his sword in front of him - without magic.

Fie! He hadn’t realized that  _ Merlin  _ \- a  _ fae  _ \- would keep silent about a matter like that. Any other fae would have  _ killed  _ him.

He needed to distract Gwen, so he cleared his throat. “He probably scalded himself heating water for my bath.” Since Gwen was looking increasingly uncomfortable at the idea, he turned the attention to something else. “Gaius. You haven’t said anything. What is it?”

Now, the court physician was bent over a book, scanning the page madly. “I’ve been analyzing the poison to see what antidote is the best.”

“And?” Gwen asked. “Did you find it?”

Gaius hesitated. “Yes.”

Gwen stood. “Well, what is it? Do we have it?” When Gaius didn’t answer right away, her voice turned a shade hysterical. “Gaius?”

“Is he going to die?” Arthur asked. He clenched his jaw until it ached. He felt responsible, now, for Merlin even though he was the crown prince of Camelot and should have been slapping iron on his wrists.

If Merlin had taken metal for something as stupid as sharpening his sword without telling Arthur, his act of drinking poison  _ must _ have been genuine as well.

In three strides, Arthur crossed the room and grabbed Gaius by the shoulders. “Gaius. What is it? Is he going to die?”

“Well…” Gaius refused to look him in the eye.

Arthur couldn’t understand  _ why  _ Gaius was refusing to answer him. It wasn’t like Gaius to not  _ tell  _ someone if a patient was dying and these were their last moments on earth unless-

Gaius had called Merlin  _ my boy.  _ Did that mean that Gaius  _ knew  _ Merlin from somewhere? Was Gaius aware that Merlin was a fae?

Arthur lowered his voice out of Gwen’s earshot and made his words purposeful and slow. “I know Merlin’s a fae as well as you do, so please cut to the chase and tell me what is going on.”

Surprised, Gaius raised his eyebrow.

Behind them, Merlin groaned again. “Burns.”

“I know, Merlin. Gaius is working on it,” Gwen assured him. “Just hold on.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, Gaius. Tell me what it is,” Arthur urged, removing his hands from Gaius’s shoulders. Begrudgingly, he added. “You won’t be in trouble.”

Gaius cleared his throat. “It’s a type of poison - tryanite. It causes instant death to humans.”

A shiver went down Arthur’s spine. “What about  _ Merlin?”  _

“I do not know,” Gaius admitted. “I have never seen it used on...someone of Merlin’s constitution.”

_ Merlin’s constitution.  _ If the situation hadn’t been so grim, Arthur would have laughed. He’d seen fall leaves with stronger constitutions. “Is there anything you can do? Is he going to die?”

Gaius looked down. “I am unsure. I have never seen an instance like this before or treated…” He trailed off. “I can give him one or two potions, but they will not expel the poison.”

“What do we do?”

Gaius’s stare went from Arthur’s face to the cot behind him. “We wait.”

…

“How do you know about Merlin’s fae blood?” Arthur asked in a murmur as Gaius handed him a mug of warm milk. Although he had insisted that Gaius didn’t need to prepare anything for him, the older man had persisted, saying it kept his mind off his current uselessness. Since Gwen was drifting off where she sat, her cheek resting on Merlin’s arm, they didn’t need to worry about keeping their voices as low.

“Several weeks ago, Merlin came to me, looking for somewhere to sleep.”

Uncomfortably, Arthur shifted. After his father had hired Merlin, he hadn’t spared a thought to where Merlin slept at night. Or anything else about Merlin.

Gaius set his own mug down on the table but didn’t touch it. “I used to have a sister.”

At the strange change of topic, Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. Although he had known Gaius his entire life, the matter of a sister never came up.

“She was sixteen years my junior. She lived in Ealdor. When she was twenty, she had a son. He was a cheerful boy, always running around and getting into trouble.”

With one corner of his mouth, Arthur smiled. He had been musch the same way.

“Raiders attacked their village. He died.”

His smile faded. 

“His mother - Hunith - died of grief and malnutrition soon after.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur murmured, unsure of how to express condolences. 

Gaius dipped his head. “When Merlin came to me several weeks ago, he started me. I fell off the balcony.”

Arthur didn’t need to look; he knew which one Gaius was referring to. 

“He used magic to cushion my fall. I know that as King Uther’s trusted friend and loyal subject, I should have turned him in immediately, sire, but...he looks exactly like Hunith’s boy. Not a single difference. I can think of no way to explain it. It is as though I have been granted another chance to see him as he would have been.”

Slightly, Arthur shivered. Strange were the fae. If the evening continued, Merlin was going to drive Arthur crazy through the unsolved mysteries that kept piling up - and he wasn’t even conscious. 

...

If someone had told Arthur that he would lose sleep over a fae several weeks ago, he would have laughed at them and thrown them in the stocks for being a fool.

Now, Arthur was losing sleep over a fae.

Every time he almost drifted off, Merlin made a pitiful keening sound in the back of his throat or tossed back and forth in a fit. Long ago, Gaius had forced Gwen (despite her protests) to return to her chambers for the evening so she could attend to Morgana in the morning. 

Arthur thought he saw a bit of hazy light peeking through the wooden shutters covering Gaius’s window. The room’s atmosphere felt stuffy as though a heavy coat of dust had descended. A while ago, Merlin had stopped moving much and curled in on himself, and the only sign that he was still alive was his rattling lungs and the barely discernible outline of his chest rising and falling. 

A small rap on the door started Arthur. In his haste to stand up, he almost fell off the table’s bench.

Fie, he hoped his father hadn’t sent a servant or one of the knights to summon him. He was already going to be in enough trouble for staying the night in the physician’s chambers, and his father would already be enraged about King Bayard’s betrayal.

Carefully, he opened the door a crack.

It was Gwen.

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Your Majesty.” She curtseyed.

She looked as though she hadn’t slept, and Arthur’s appearance probably matched hers.

“I came to check on Merlin, my lord, before seeing to Lady Morgana. How is he?”

Arthur stepped aside to let her into the room. At the sound of his door hinges creaking, Gaius roused, lifting his head from the table where he, too, had been resting.

“Merlin?” Gwen asked softly.

Arthur ran a hand over his face to clear it. Suddenly, something seemed off (besides the fact that Merlin had been poisoned, of course). An element was missing, but he couldn’t place his finger on it at the moment until his brain started working.

Gwen screamed. “ _ Gaius! He isn’t breathing!”  _

Instantly, Gaius was on his feet.

At Gwen’s words, Arthur found himself paralyzed. He watched as the physician leaned over the cot where the body - no, the fae -  _ no,  _ his manservant was lying.

Still. His chest wasn’t moving.

Arthur couldn’t comprehend it - just a second ago-

Gaius straightened up, looking twenty years older. His face crumpled.

Gwen began sobbing. Gaius hugged her, muffling the sound.

As more light trickled into the room, Arthur stared in shock at the body. Merlin was just  _ resting  _ there. He looked as though he could be asleep. 

Merlin was  _ dead. _

Because of him.

A lot of men had died on behalf of Arthur, for Camelot, in the past, but none of them had been  _ fae.  _

An image flooded into his head, Merlin throwing his hands up into the air and saying, _“What do I have to do to prove I’m not trying to kill you? Drink poison?”_

His throat constricted.

He needed to leave.

He turned for the door. On the wood in front of him, there was a flash of golden light, but Arthur didn’t stop to wonder about it. He wrenched the door open.

“Gaius! That’s disgusting! You’re old enough to be her  _ grandfather!”  _

Arthur’s chest constricted. He whirled around.

“Merlin!” Gwen cried, hurling herself forward.

There was Merlin, sitting up on the cot, hugging Gwen back, and grinning at them as though - 

Arthur marched past Gaius and up to the cot to point a finger at Merlin’s snobby fae nose. “You  _ idiot.  _ Once you’ve recovered, I expect you to muck out my stables  _ twice! In a row!”  _

The imbecile was  _ grinning.  _ “So nice of you to worry about me,  _ sire.”  _

Angrily, Arthur spun around on one heel and marched for the door.

Just before he slammed it, he heard Merlin confidently tell Gwen and Gaius, “I think he’s  _ finally  _ starting to like me. It’s the ears.”


	6. Don't worry! Merlin has a plan!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has a plan.

“Hulloo,” Merlin greeted Arthur as Arthur slammed open the door to the physician’s quarters. “Would you like some eggs?”

Arthur ran a hand over his cheek to cover up his sigh of relief (although he would have denied it profusely if it were to be called as such). So Merlin really was alive. Arthur had woken up convinced that the fae had died in the middle of the night because of...well, if Merlin wasn’t going to act weird, then  _ he  _ wasn’t either. 

Merlin was looking at him expectantly with that half-grin on his face.

“No.”

“Pity. Gaius is a horrible cook.” With the fork in his left hand, Merlin poked at a lump of grey in his bowl while clutching a blanket around his thin frame with the other.

“Where  _ is  _ Gaius?” Arthur asked, scrutinizing him. The only sign that he’d been wiping his feet at death’s door’s placemat (and Arthur wasn’t sure that he hadn’t crossed the threshold at some point) was the paler-than-usual tint to his skin.

He made a sweep of the rest of the room so Merlin wouldn’t think he was anything special.

“Out. Medicine. Apparently, it’s not a good thing to give a blind man a whole bottle of tincture and forget to tell him not to drink it all at once.”

“What? Wait, I don’t want to know,” Arthur decided. It was better not knowing. Maybe.

“Is there something you needed?” Merlin asked. “Besides visual confirmation that I do, in fact, deserve a day off, of course.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He  _ did  _ need Merlin to do something for him, but he had hoped to extend some sort of olive branch before getting into it. So Merlin didn’t think he was a complete prune. “How are you feeling?” he asked gruffly.

“Like I was poisoned for a prat, thanks. Now what did you really come in here for?”

Arthur took a seat opposite him. “Currently, King Bayard is in our dungeons.”

“Haven’t been down there myself -  _ yet  _ \- but I hear it’s lovely this time of year. He should be in good company. I hear there are rats.”

“Focus, Merlin. There are bigger problems here than the lack of sanitation in the dungeons.”

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Really? I think it’s a problem. Especially if I might spend the evening down there one of these days. Poor mice. They don’t stand a chance against the rats.”

“Merlin!” 

“Right, sorry.” Merlin took a sip of some hot liquid out of the mug in front of him. “Bigger problem.”

“King Bayard.”

“Yes. King Bayard.” Merlin cast him a shrewd glance. “Quick question...how much do you  _ like  _ this King Bayard?”

Oh, fie, that was not what Arthur meant. “No, no, no, I don’t want you to knock him off! I want you to figure out how to get him out of the dungeons before a war that my father has worked for years to prevent breaks out!”

“Oh! Why didn’t you just  _ say _ so? Phew. I hate blood.” Merlin chewed on his bottom lip for a moment.

Arthur resisted the urge to do something to get Merlin to think faster. He didn’t have all day to wait around for his manservant to come up with the solutions to his problems. 

“Pardon me if I am pointing out the obvious,” Merlin began, “but why don’t you just blame the whole thing on fae?”

“Blame it on fae?” Arthur blinked at him once in surprise. “You really want me to blame it on you? I thought that was the last thing you would have wanted.”

Although it wasn’t like the fae weren’t blamed for  _ everything  _ around the castle (when Uther was out of earshot, of course). The soup burned? Fae. Birds messed up the laundry? Fae. Bowstring snapped? Fae.

“Of course not,” Merlin answered carefully, “but it’s also the truth. You know what they say...well, I’m not actually sure what they say since I’ve been asleep for a bit.”

“What?” Arthur stared at Merlin incredulously. “A fae tried to poison me?!”

“It’s not  _ that  _ hard to believe.”

Pointedly, Arthur ignored that jab. “And you did think of mentioning any of this before?”

Merlin gave him a one-shoulder shrug.

Arthur really wished Merlin was a knight at that moment. Knights spoke plainly and didn’t dance around words like children’s games. They gave hard facts when and sometimes before Arthur asked for them. He needed to slow down a bit and focus on the most important thing if he wanted to get anything out of Merlin. “How do you know it was another fae?”

“And not me? Well, I could feel the magic that put the poison there. It’s a miracle someone hasn’t tried to poison you or Uther that way before.”

“You can just... _ feel  _ magic?”

What Uther would have done (or killed) for that skill.

“No. Well, I mean, occasionally, I  _ can  _ reach out, but I was checking your goblet for poison  _ anyway-”  _

“All right,” Arthur cut him off before he could continue his half-explanation and make Arthur develop another headache when he had just gotten rid of the last one. “I’ll take your word for it. A fae poisoned it. Do you know  _ who  _ this newcomer is?”

Merlin shook his head. “No. I am afraid that I have not been in the Court or had much time to be acquainted with other fae.”

Every blasted sentence Merlin spoke brought up twenty more questions. “The Court? Why don’t you know anyone?” Arthur frowned. “Wait, not that you  _ should.  _ Don’t. As prince, I command you to stay away from other fae.”

Merlin cheerfully muttered something under his breath and fixed his blanket, which was slipping again. “The Fae Court.”

That did nothing to explain anything. Arthur’s head was exploding with questions, but he couldn’t spend that much more time in the court physician’s chambers. “Never mind. What proof do I offer my father?”

“I don’t think you’ll need to offer much.” 

Yes, Merlin was right enough (for a fae). His father was quick to blame fae blood and would not want a lengthy and costly war on his hands. Also, it would have been rather foolish of King Bayard to poison the crown prince in front of the entire court with hundreds of soldiers that could easily subdue him.

“Right.” Arthur stood and awkwardly slapped Merlin on the shoulder.

“What was  _ that  _ for?!” Merlin looked at him as though he’d slapped his own grandmother.

“It’s sort of like saying ‘get well soon.’ It works with the knights when they’re injured.” 

“Well, they’re daft, aren’t they?”

Arthur raised his eyebrow at him. “You  _ do  _ know that  _ I  _ am a knight?”

“Well, that explains it, then.”

Arthur glowered. “I expect you  _ back  _ to work as soon as possible, you idiot.”

Merlin turned the vulcanized eggs into a napkin when he thought Arthur’s back was fully turned.

…

King Bayard and his men were released from the dungeons and sent back on their merry way to Mercia. 

King Uther ordered a complete sweep of the city for fae blood.

Metal never lied.

…

When Arthur entered the courtyard, he stopped and stared.

Gwaine and Merlin were sitting side by side, their backs against the stonework, munching apples.

Oh, no, Arthur decided. This was not going to happen. Gwaine and Merlin together? All of Camelot would be burned down within half an hour.

(And Arthur wasn’t completely sure he trusted Merlin  _ quite  _ enough yet to let him mingle that much with the knights.)

“Sir Gwaine!”

Looking up, Gwaine broke out into a grin. When Arthur was near enough, he cheekily asked, “Oi, Princess, need anything?”

Merlin continued munching on his apple, somehow managing not to drip any of the sticky juice on the front of his shirt. 

“Yes. I need you to quit lounging around like a beggar.”

Gwaine laughed, throwing back his head slightly and showing off his white teeth. “How about a drunkard, then? Want to join me and Merlin and take a trip to the tavern?”

“Gwaine...it’s one in the afternoon,” Arthur pointed out warily.

“Perfect! Merlin here needs some fresh air. Doctor’s orders.”

Arthur highly doubted that.

Merlin looked confused. “But...there aren’t any trees around. How can this be fresh air?”

“You aren’t taking Merlin to the tavern,” Arthur stated firmly. “Absolutely not. Come on, Merlin.”

“What? Why?” Merlin frowned. “I did all of my chores. Well, I mean, you haven’t told me to do any  _ immediately.”  _

Gwaine also came to Merlin’s defense. “Leave him alone, Princess.”

Fantastic. Now Gwaine was taking  _ Merlin’s  _ side. He wasn’t going to let them get away with this. “Well, if getting fresh air is the doctor’s orders, then Merlin wouldn’t mind coming along on a little hunting trip with me, now would he?”

“I’d rather drink poison,” Merlin replied sourly, tossing his apple off somewhere to the left.

“Too bad. You’ve already done that. Up and at ‘em,  _ Mer _ lin.”

Arthur was pretty sure Merlin was cussing him out in a foreign language.

It seemed better not to ask.

…

Somewhere behind him, Merlin was trampling through the woods (silently, thank goodness), but Arthur’s sights were focused on the deer in front of him. Gradually, he raised his crossbow, lining the deer up with the sight and preparing to pull the trigger, and-

“Hey, Arthur, do you-”

Someone bumped into him from behind, sending him sprawling into the leaves and twigs and dirt in front of him. In his hands, the crossbow released.

He looked up just in time to see the deer fleeing for its life, white tail flashing at him.

“Are you kidding me?” he growled, propelling himself to his feet. “I almost had it. You  _ really  _ are a  _ total  _ buffoon!”

“I was just asking you something,” Merlin defended himself as Arthur dusted himself off. “You don’t have to get all up in arms about it.”

After all of Merlin’s “I hate blood” and other pacifist speeches, Arthur should have known better than to bring the fae on a  _ hunting  _ trip if he actually hoped to snag anything. “I almost had that deer! You are an  _ idiot.  _ Hunting requires agility, speed, and the ability to  _ think.” _

“It’s nice to know you can get by with just two of those, Arthur.” Merlin patted him on the arm. “Really. Now where are we going?”

Arthur was thinking of ramming his head into the nearest tree or joining the squirrels. “We  _ were  _ following that deer, but by now, it’s probably halfway to  _ Mercia.”  _

_ “Oh,  _ really? I didn’t know deer could run that fast.” Merlin shielded his eyes and looked around. “This is a nice forest.”

“It’s a forest,  _ Merlin,”  _ Arthur growling, hoping Merlin would catch onto the fact 

Merlin’s normally cheery expression morphed into a scowl. “I’ll have you  _ know-”  _

As it was, Merlin did  _ not  _ get to inform Arthur of what he knew (and Arthur wasn’t particularly interested at that moment) because a scream ricocheted through the air.

Instantly, Arthur was on alert. He grabbed the hilt of his sword. “What was that?”

“A scream,” Merlin supplied unhelpfully. “I think…” he closed his eyes. “The trees tell me it came from over there. Ah, yes, it did.” He pointed. 

Arthur did not have time to consider the ludicrousness of Merlin’s statement. Scooping up his crossbow, he dashed for the tree line.

“Arthur, wait!” Merlin yelled.

Blast it, Arthur wasn’t going to stop for him.

“Arthur! Don’t!”

Another scream. 

An invisible force yanked him backwards, lifting him a few inches off the ground. The crossbow flew out of his hands. As he struggled, it gently deposited him back down on the forest floor.

“ _ Merlin!”  _ he roared as he was released, turning around to face his manservant. 

“Sorry!” The fae came running up behind him. “But you didn’t wait!”

Was punching a magic user  _ worth it?  _

Yes, he was beginning to think. Yes, it was.

“I had to stop you!” Merlin belt over, panting. “They’re fae.”

_ “Somebody! Help!” _

“ _ What?  _ Ruddy fae?”

“Yes, ‘ruddy’ fae, as you so nicely put it. You can’t just go running in there. It’s probably a trap. At least, I think it is. The  _ trees  _ think it is.”

“An innocent woman is being attacked!” Arthur gestured in the directions the cries for help were coming from. They were growing in intensity. If they didn’t hurry...“I can’t just ignore that. What do you suggest we do,  _ Mer _ lin?” 

He wasn’t  _ actually  _ asking Merlin for a course of action (just point out how stupid Merlin was being), but Merlin took him seriously. “Oh, don’t worry.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I have a  _ plan.” _


	7. Merlin consults the trees for a plan

“So.” Merlin clapped his hands together. “After consulting the trees, I’ve decided how this is going to go.”

Arthur clenched his teeth. “Merlin, I don’t have the time to listen to whatever ridiculously long plan you’ve concocted in your twisted little head!”

As if to prove his point, the woman cried out,  _ “Father!”  _

Merlin’s nostrils flared. “Fine then! But whatever you do, you have to get them back to the castle. Especially her!”

“What?”

“Quit staring at me like a tadpole, sire. We’re wasting time!” Abruptly cutting everything off, Merlin dashed past Arthur.

Dumbfounded, Arthur started after him. No explanation at  _ all? _

_ And hadn’t Merlin just told him to wait? _

“Hey!” Arthur stumbled through the thicket after Merlin.

Although Merlin had a head start, Arthur arrived at the clearing a split second later to see an older man prostrate on the ground, a younger woman, and three ruffians. Belongings were scattered about over the yellow fallen leaves.

And Merlin was heading for the tallest of them, waving his satchel back and forth in the air like an old codger. “Yoo hoo!”

For the love of  _ fae!  _

Unsheathing his sword, Arthur quickly put himself between them and Merlin, pushing his manservant back with his unoccupied hand. “Hey! Release them!”

The scoundrel hunched over the old man, who was cowering with his hands feebly protecting his head, looked up. “Eh?”

The second man, the one not bear hugging the young lady, sneered. “A tin can and a  _ duckling.”  _

As if the forest took offense to this description of Merlin, a loud crack echoed. Arthur and the first bandit looked up.

_ Conk.  _

The latter of the two experienced the texture of bark up close and personal.

Arthur took advantage and advanced, swinging his sword in an impressive arc to let them know they were messing with a  _ trained  _ tin can.

Apparently deciding that their prey was no longer easy and that sticking around wasn’t worth it, the other two abandoned the scene and made a run for the woods. Their mate hobbled after them, rubbing his head and cursing.

Sheathing his sword, Arthur faced the young lady -  _ fae,  _ he reminded himself.

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Golden hair adorned with rosebuds as pink as her lips curled around the milky-white skin of her smooth sheeks. She was smiling, and to Arthur, it was as though the sun were favoring him.

Suddenly, Arthur found it no problem to invite her back to the castle.

But it was only for a moment. Merlin broke it as he came up beside Arthur, shaking his fist after the retreating attackers and hollering, “And let that be a lesson to you!”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Thank you so much!” the lady gushed, clasping her hands in front of her as she focused on Arthur. “They were going to  _ kill  _ my father, I was sure of it!”

Arthur found the corners of his mouth curling up again.

Merlin helped her father to his feet with a less-than-thrilled expression plastered on his face. A tad roughly, he dusted the older man off.

Arthur turned his head back to his daughter. “What are your names?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Lady Sofia.” She drew herself into a curtsey. “And my father, Aulfric. We are nobles to the south, my lord. We have come to seek refuge from our enemies while on our way to another kingdom.”

With each passing second, Arthur was finding it hard to believe that  _ Sofia  _ could be a fae. She was too beautiful. Too lovely. Too charming. Perhaps Merlin and his trees were wrong. Maybe his magic-detecting skills were off. For all Arthur knew, Merlin’s fae blood was the weakest of them all. In fact, that seemed most likely from Merlin’s general...well, he wasn’t sure what to call it besides  _ aura.  _

“Ahem.” Merlin cleared his throat and pointedly stared up at the canopy of three leaves above them like a drunk squirrel that was deciding if the sun actually existed.

“Of course, excuse me. Are you injured? Do you require a physician?” Arthur asked, scanning them over.

“No,” Sofia answered for both of them, wrapping her arms around herself. “You stopped them in time.”

Arthur frowned. He couldn’t have her catching a  _ cold.  _ “Merlin, give her your coat before she freezes to death.” 

“What?” Merlin squawked. “ _ My  _ coat? What can’t it be  _ your  _ coat?”

“I’m not  _ wearing  _ a coat.” To remind him just who was crown prince around there, Arthur glared at him. “So if you don’t mind,  _ Mer _ lin.”

“I can give her mind, my lord,” her father broke in, already working to pull his own off his shoulders. 

Arthur stopped him. “Of course not. You are nobility. Merlin, your coat.” Arthur crossed his arms and gave Merlin a  _ look.  _

Merlin gave him one right back.

“Your. Coat. Or the stocks.”

Even though merlin was off sword-polishing duty, the stocks were metal-free. And quite uncomfortable. 

Glowering, Merlin peeled off his coat and thrust it at Sofia. “Sorry if it smells like  _ herbs.”  _

“Thank you.” Sofia smiled sweetly. “It is  _ very  _ generous of you. And you, Prince Arthur.”

Arthur never noticed that her sweet smile turned into sour wine. Or the looks she and her father exchanged. Or Merlin’s apprehensive frown. Or the bit of magic in the air, seeping into his nostrils. Or how she already knew his name when he had never introduced himself.

As far as he was concerned, she was perfect.

…

Merlin slammed his palms down on the top of Arthur’s desk. “You’ve got to listen to me, Arthur. I’m not joking when I say she’s fae!”

Arthur scoffed. “You’re just jealous,  _ Mer _ lin. It’s perfectly reasonable for someone of your social standing to be  _ jealous  _ of-”

“For the love of Freya!” Merlin cried, throwing his hands into the air. “She really  _ has  _ enchanted you. And all it took was ten seconds! You  _ really  _ are a clotpole. And she’s a blasted  _ witch.”  _

Arthur bristled. “I won’t have you insulting a lady. You might get away with lots of things around here, but that isn’t one of them.” Sometimes, he could not  _ believe  _ the  _ audacity  _ of his manservant. George wouldn’t use such a vulgar term for a woman. Neither would Sofia.

Sofia was  _ perfect.  _

“Arthur, she’s fae. I don’t know what her endgame is, but I can guarantee you’ll have more things to worry about than how many sausages are on your plate.”

Arthur snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. If she were fae, she would have killed me by now. Like our poisoner.  _ You  _ haven’t done anything about it.”

Merlin huffed. “What do you think we fae are, run-of-the-mill assassins?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. Even if Merlin had saved his life, it made him uncomfortable when his manservant brought up  _ fae  _ and  _ death  _ in the same sentence. He didn’t like where Merlin was taking this, and if didn’t leave soon, he was going to be late for his outing with Sofia. Merlin was being ridiculous. As usual. “Listen,  _ you’re  _ the one who bossed me around like a queen mother, telling me to bring her back to the castle. And you aren’t doing anything to get  _ rid  _ of her.”

“ _ My mistake.”  _

“Yes, well, anyways. I need you to cover for me.” One advantage to having a fae as a manservant, he supposed, even if Merlin did make his skin crawl every once in a while.

Merlin’s eyebrows knit together. “Cover? For what?”

“I’m taking Sofia on a picnic.” It was all planned out in Arthur’s mind. He would take her to the meadow, where pansies were just starting to bloom and the birds like to nest with their young, and-

“A  _ picnic?!”  _ Merlin's eyes widened as though Arthur had told him he was taking Sofia to the pig sty. “I thought you were supposed to patrol with the knights. At least, that’s what Percival told me.”

Stretching to work out a few kinks in his back, Arthur stood. “That’s where you come in. Obviously, I can’t be in two places at once.”

“You can be in two pieces at once,” Merlin savagely muttered.

“Merlin!” Despite the room’s stuffy atmosphere, Arthur shivered. When Merlin spoke that way, it was too close to an actual fae instead...Merlin.

“Fine.” Merlin’s tense stance relaxed as some of the tension leaked out of him. “Since you’re enchanted and obviously courting the stupidity and all of the other good things that go along with  _ that... _ I suppose it isn’t the full moon…I’ll just have to catch her in the act.”

Although Arthur didn’t know and didn’t care what a ruddy full moon had to do with anything, he took the opening. “It’s  _ just  _ a picnic. You worry like a mother hen. Sofia is perfect. She cannot harm me. You’ll see.”

Merlin made a non-committal sound as he moved away to scoop up some dirty laundry. “Yes. We’ll see.”

Arthur  _ hated  _ it when Merlin acted as though he knew more than the ruddy prince of Camelot.

As if.

…

Sofia  _ was  _ perfect. Arthur couldn’t remember a more pleasant afternoon. The birds sang sweetly, and the air was as fresh as laundry after someone else  _ besides  _ Merlin had washed it. Everything seemed brighter, bolder, and more  _ lovely  _ with Sofia around. It was as though she had opened up his eyes to what everything could be if only she were his.

Arthur found himself willing to sit forever and stare into her breathtaking eyes as she whispered strange, incomprehensible - but still  _ beautiful -  _ words to him.

He would do anything she asked. His body was under her command. 

“Hey!”

The single word cracked through the tranquility of the clearing. Sofia’s head snapped up, and her eyes focused on something behind Arthur.

He felt as though he were moving through a bog, but he managed to twist around to see what had captured her attention.

It was Merlin.

Like a foal learning to walk, he trampled through the high grass. Once he saw that he had Arthur’s attention, he waved both hands in the air. “Sire!”

“What does he  _ want?”  _ Sofia asked, irritation leaking into her voice. “Didn’t you tell your men that we wanted to be left  _ alone?”  _ She twisted one of her hands into Arthur’s. 

“Yes. My manservant is a dimwit.” 

“Get rid of him,” Sofia whispered, leaning forward. “He’s spoiling it.”

“ _ Sire! Over here!”  _ Merlin called again.

“I’ll get rid of him as quickly as possible,” Arthur assured her, releasing her hand so he could stand. “I’ll be right back.” Instead of wasting time, he jogged over to Merlin, who stopped above twenty yards from their picnic blanket. 

“Okay, so,” Merlin began before Arthur could even ask him what was wrong. “You have to come back to the castle as soon as possible.”

“What?” Arthur barked. “You have to be out of your mind. I thought I told you to cover for me.” Blast it. This was what he got for trusting Merlin with such an important task. “It’s a good thing that Camelot isn’t in a time of war.”

Merlin winced. “Yeah. People keep reminding me. Anyway, it’s Gwaine.”

“ _ Gwaine?”  _ Now Arthur knew this was going to be a doozy. “If he’s gotten himself drunk before going on patrol, he can sit and rot in the dungeons for all I care. It might even do him a little good.” Arthur glanced back over his shoulder at Sofia, who was biting into an apple. Why couldn’t Merlin just deal with Gwaine himself? He was fae, for crying out loud.

Letting out a weak laugh, Merlin scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, it’s not  _ just  _ Gwaine. It’s more like Gwaine and...a couple of close friends!”

“A couple of close  _ friends?”  _

“Elyan and Lancelot?”

Arthur groaned. If it were Gwaine, that was one thing, but  _ several _ of the knights? He would have to return before his father caught wind of a problem. “Fine. Give me a minute to pack up.”

Merlin gave him two thumbs up. “Great. Fantastic. I’ll be waiting, sire.”

“What’s wrong?” Sofia asked, looking up from the fruit nestled in her palm as Arthur returned, casting a shadow over their picnic scene.

“A problem has arisen with the knights,” he told her. “I have to return.”

Sofia frowned. “Someone else can’t deal with it? We were just starting to have  _ such  _ a good time.”

Arthur was royally tempted to agree. To pass the responsibility over to someone else. To cast all cares into the wind.

But he would never have another chance to spend the afternoon with Sofia if his father found out and cracked down. 

“It cannot be avoided.”

Sofia huffed. “All right. I suppose you must.”

She waited by the horses while Arthur packed up the blanket.

…

The next day, a thunderstorm arose. They were soaked.

…

A flock of geese attacked them on a ride near the lake.

…

“Merlin. You wouldn’t  _ happen  _ to have anything to do with  _ anything _ ?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sire.”

Arthur highly doubted it, but he was drifting away on a river that smelled like sweet roses.

…

Arthur did not recall much of anything except Sofia’s eyes. They were shining gold as she intently stared into him.

She was leading him into the river, but he felt as though he were walking on a cloud. The water slid into his mouth, up his nostrils and into the cavities of his ears.

_ “Close your eyes,”  _ Sofia whispered.  _ “Close your eyes and become the river.”  _

_ Yes,  _ Arthur thought.  _ Yes. _

The water was crystal clear, a beautiful resting place. The perfect place to die.

“ _ Close-”  _

The words stopped like the snapping of a lute string.

Something cracked in his mind.

Arthur tried to suck in air, but instead, he choked. The water turned heavy.

Soft hands tugged him upwards, but Arthur found the closer he came to the sunlight, the blacker the world became.

…

Upon regaining consciousness, the first thing that Arthur noticed was the water spewing out of his mouth and the words ringing through the air. His cheek was pressed against the rocky shore of the river.

“Did you try to poison him?”

_ Poison whom? _ Arthur asked himself as his mind struggled to regain control. Was he poisoned?

“No,” a second voice sneered.

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

“Then why were you trying to kill him?”

Once all of the water had escaped, Arthur rolled onto his back.

“Because I was  _ punished,”  _ the second voice answered with a sneer. “I will do  _ anything  _ to regain my position in the Court.”

Court...Court...eons ago, he and Merlin had a conversation...Merlin…

The first voice was  _ Merlin,  _ and for the love of fae, Sofia-

“But you wouldn’t know anything about it, now would you?” Sofia spat. “You have been absent. You have no place. You have no  _ right  _ to interfere where you do not belong.”

“I have a right to interfere when you try to kill Arthur,” Merlin stated firmly.

As he stared up at the sky filled with puffy white clouds, Arthur ruddy well  _ hoped  _ someone had a right to interfere.

“Why  _ now?”  _ Sofia asked sharply. “You’ve been around. You had days to show yourself. I thought you were an  _ idiotic  _ manservant, but you were just waiting. I could have killed this pathetic human, this... _ Arthur  _ the second I met him.”

“Oh, you  _ tried,”  _ Merlin agreed. “But it wasn’t the full moon yet. That was the requirement, wasn’t it? And you had Arthur under your spell. I couldn’t just rip the rug out from underneath him when it could have driven him crazy. But I’ve broken most of it now.”

Sofia swore.

It hit Arthur like a bucket of ice. 

He struggled to sit up.

While half of his mind ordered him to go pledge his eternal love for Sofia, the other told him that Merlin was going to die.

Sofia could kill Merlin, Arthur was sure of it, because Merlin was an idiot who tripped over invisible pieces of furniture.

“Merlin!”

His own voice rang through his ears as though it were traveling through swaths of water. 

Sofia and Merlin were standing on the banks of the river, ten feet between them.

Merlin’s back was to Arthur.

Sofia was raising her hands.

And Merlin was doing  _ nothing. _

“ _ Merlin!” _

_ Twip. _

A streak of black. A spurt of red.

Both Sofia and Arthur stared, shocked, at the crossbolt emerging from her chest. Blood spurted over her white gown.

She looked so lovely in that color…

She crumpled.

“No!”

Arthur’s mind was twisting and turning like the river’s current. He wasn’t sure whether he should be crying in anguish or relieved.

“Sire, are you all right?” 

Leon’s face appeared in front of him, drawn tight in worry.

“I’m…” Arthur was  _ going  _ to say fine, but he wasn’t positive if he was  _ anything- _

Blocking his view of Sofia’s body, Percival arrived on scene and helped him stand to his feet. “Sire, do you need medical attention.”

“Let me through to him.” Bony elbows sticking out, Merlin pushed his way to stand in front of Arthur. 

“What did she  _ do  _ to me?” Arthur wondered aloud. “What did  _ you  _ do to me?” 

“Nothing. But I’m about to break the last bit of her enchantment.”

“Are you sure-” Lancelot began.

“It’s the only way to get him to wake up,” Merlin said. “If you want, you can run me through later once I do this.” Grimly, he rested his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and bowed his head.

“I’m right here, you know,” Arthur began, irritated, “You don’t have to speak like-”

A force struck him like a slap.

When the black dots disappeared and his hearing returned, Arthur found himself standing in the middle of a semicircle of knights.

Head tilted to the side, Merlin was staring at him. As though he liked what he saw, he turned around. “He’s all right now! Anybody still want to run me through?”

“I’d be out of a drinking buddy,” Gwaine remarked cheerfully.

“Gwaine, I am never going drinking with you,” Merlin told him seriously.

“That’s what I said  _ last  _ time,” Elyan piped up.

Arthur was terribly downright confused. If he thought  _ Merlin  _ was a headache, this was  _ ten times worse _ . “What...What in fae just happened?”

Merlin grinned at him. “Congratulations at your first enchantment, sire! The next time I warn you that fae are in the area, you  _ might  _ want to listen to me.”

Arthur could remember it all.

Oh, Merlin was never going to let him live it down. As half of the knights moved to bring the horses, he groaned, and Lancelot clapped him on the back. 

“But  _ no,  _ Merlin,” his manservant mimicked. “She’s  _ perfect.  _ She can’t be a fae! Don’t insult her father, either,  _ Mer _ lin, you  _ idiot.”  _

“Her father!” If he had been alone, Arthur would have smacked himself in the face. 

“Don’t worry,” Lancelot, “Merlin helped us take care of him before following you.”

Arthur felt like crawling under the thick comforter of his bed and going into an embarrassment-induced coma for a week. “Was I really like that?” he asked Merlin.

“Like what, a stuck-up, snobbish prince _?”  _ Merlin countered. “Don’t worry. You didn’t really change  _ that  _ much from your usual self.”

_ “Thanks.”  _

“How many times have you saved his life now, Merlin?” Gwaine prompted, stepping forward to hand Arthur a water bottle.

Before taking a swallow, Arthur sniffed it to make sure it wasn’t alcoholic. 

“Three? I can’t believe how he survived before I came along.”

Arthur screwed the cap back on. Even though he was still a bit unsteady on his feet, he made to move past them. “Let me know when you’re done.” He wasn’t going to stick around and listen to them tearing him to pieces.

“All right,” Merlin agreed.

“Hey!” Gwaine’s voice turned sly. “Want to make a little bet on the next time, mate?”

“There won’t  _ be  _ a next time!” Arthur yelled.

“I don’t have any money,” Merlin said. “Arthur’s stingier than a grandmother.”

“I’ll loan you some.”

“All right, then.”

Arthur made it two weeks.

…

On the ride back to the castle, the teasing slowly died from Merlin’s lips. As though picking up on his apprehension, the trees rocked in the wind and swayed against each other, creating a rattling sound with their leaves.

_ Emrys,  _ they whispered the closer he came to the end of the wood.

There were a lot of things Merlin could not remember: why he’d slept for so long, much of the time before then, where he had come from. His mother. The vim of the fae.

But the name  _ Emrys  _ tugged at the corners of his mind, as it always had, calling him to something more.

A time was coming. A change was coming. A movement was arising. Merlin didn’t doubt that this was not the last time a fae would try to end Arthur’s life for some gain.

Their blood was stirring.

He would have to keep his eyes - and ears - open. 


	8. You're getting there

Sleep fled from Arthur.

Usually, after a day in the saddle and a few small skirmishes, he was ready to fall into the metaphorical dark abyss until Merlin came to drag him out of bed by his feet. No counting sheep. No warm milk. And certainly no lullabies.

He tried to rationalize the problem. He couldn’t sleep because Gwaine was snoring too loudly one bedroll over. There was a rock poking into the base of his spine. This was the same forest (albeit dozens of leagues away) in which Sofia had attempted to drown him.

But those were foolish reasons for tossing and turning about like a decapitated worm.

While Arthur tried to calm his mind, Gwaine’s racket continued, and Merlin rolled over in his sleep onto his back. With a small snort, Merlin began snoring, adding dissonance to the horrid melody floating around the remains of the campfire.

“Merlin!” Arthur hissed. “Merlin!”

His manservant remained infuriatingly oblivious.

Weren’t fae supposed to be light sleepers? They seemed like they should have been. Merlin was always present at ungodly hours of the morning to wake  _ him  _ up.

“Blast it,” Arthur muttered to himself as he threw his blanket off. If he couldn’t sleep, he would tire himself out by taking a short walk through the woods. Although it was probably best to wake up one of the knights (and he was definitely tempted to “accidentally” trip over the metal pan by Merlin’s bedroll on his way past), he decided not to. They were tired after their work that afternoon in the outlying village and the long ride back to Camelot. Instead, he snagged Leon’s crossbow as he crept by him on his way out of the circle.

With a few trees between them, the volume of the snoring greatly diminished. As he threaded the crossbow, Arthur told himself that he would check the horses and then go back.

His feet, however, did not listen.

Almost as though he were under a fae’s spell (but he wasn’t - he would never forget that feeling), they led him down a deer path, through the leaves into a lighter patch of wood where the air smelled like honeysuckles.

The moon was trickling light through the gaps in the leaves up above, dancing as it fell to the forest floor. 

Arthur halted.

Ahead of him, the moonlight illuminated a white figure.

It was a good thing he had brought the crossbow, he thought. He would shoot first rather than be taken in by another Sofia, and no human in his or her sane mind would be dressed in pure white out in the middle of the woods where fae freely roamed.

As he raised the bow, he realized what a fool he had been to leave the safe circle. Although Uther’s hunts had greatly diminished the chance of running into a fae, the possibility did not completely disappear.

Fie, Merlin was proof of that.

He had to kill the fae before it realized he was there.

The figure moved.

It wasn’t a fae, after all. It appeared to be a horse. At first he thought it was one of their own that had escaped from Merlin’s ridiculously complicated knots, but...none of their steeds were such a pure color.

Arthur took another step forward, squinting even though the picture was as clear as if it were illuminated by sunlight.

It raised its head to look at him, soft eyes meeting his.

The movement revealed a sharp horn protruding from the middle of its forehead.

Arthur let out a soft exclamation. A unicorn. Although he had seen many renditions by artists in books, he had never laid eyes on one of the magical creatures.

_ A unicorn.  _

Curiously, it took a step towards Arthur, setting one silver hoof soundlessly on the dead leaves between them.

It was beautiful. It was a being Arthur could fall in love with if he let himself.

No.

If Merlin saw it...at that moment, Merlin wasn’t planning to kill Arthur as far as he could tell. But what if he saw the unicorn? What if it lured him off to the Court? What if it woke a latent desire to kill Arthur and return to his people?

It was magical. Magic could not create something breathtaking without it also being minacious.

No, he could  _ not  _ let it get Merlin in its clutches. He did not trust Merlin completely as it was, but if Merlin  _ became familiar with this creature- _

Without a second thought, he raised the crossbow and fired.

Letting out a scream of pain, the unicorn collapsed forward onto its front knees.

Behind him, something cracked in the forest. Arthur whirled around, whipping up the crossbow again to defend himself from an attack from behind.

It was only Merlin.

Sighing with relief, he lowered the weapon. “Merlin! What are you doing out here? You scared me half to death.” Back at the camp, Merlin had been as dead to the world as a corpse.

Merlin was as white as one of Arthur’s washed sheets. He looked as though the next gust of wind passing through the trees would knock him over, and his eyes were fixated on the dead unicorn behind Arthur.

“Merlin?” Arthur repeated, alarm rising in him. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin finally answered in a flat whisper. “What have you  _ done?”  _

…

Head bowed, Merlin crouched over the body of the unicorn, stroking its white hair with the barest tips of his fingers. 

As Arthur watched, a drop of water fell from his face, mingling with the silver blood on the ground. The merged liquids shimmered before fading.

“I-” Arthur felt as though he should say something. Should he apologize? He wasn’t necessarily sorry for killing the creature, but Merlin was acting as though it were a tragedy.

“Don’t,” Merlin snapped with a harsh voice. “Be silent.”

Arthur bristled at the rebuke.

Merlin looked up. “You don’t know what you’ve done, have you?”

“No,” Arthur confessed, “Not really. I only did what anyone loyal to Camelot could have done.”

Merlin splayed his hands over the unicorn’s side. “ _ I  _ don’t even know what you’ve done, Arthur. I don’t think. You’ve broken something.”

“Broken something?” Arthur had done a little more than simply  _ break  _ something. He knew Merlin didn’t like blood, but this was a bit much. 

“Yes, broken something. There are laws, Arthur.”

Arthur breathed in deeply through his nose. “What, exactly,  _ Mer _ lin, did I break? You’re talking like a madman.” He was making Arthur feel uncomfortable.

“A law!” Merlin stood. “You cannot kill a unicorn, Arthur. I haven’t been to the Court - at least, I don’t think - but even  _ I  _ know that there is a cost! Do you think that fae are going to let this pass? You killed one of our-” Merlin choked on his words. “You killed it.” He crouched by the unicorn’s side and began to stroke its side again, tracing a pattern with its finger.

The more Merlin spoke, the more alarmed Arthur became. “What kind of cost?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin whispered, his voice slightly terrified, “I really don’t know, Arthur. You could forfeit your life.” 

His life? Arthur knew fae were ridiculous, but that was a  _ bit much.  _ “What do you mean, my life?” he demanded. “A horse for my life? That’s hardly a fair trade.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You know, for - and I quote - being ‘trained since birth to kill,’ you  _ really  _ know nothing about your enemy.”

Arthur was insulted. “You hardly seem to know anything, either,  _ Mer _ lin. Why is killing a magical horse such an offense? What did I do?”

“Well, why was it attacking you?” Merlin asked. “Did you provoke it or something?”

“It wasn’t attacking me,” Arthur clarified. 

“Then why did you kill it?”

He could hardly explain that to  _ Merlin.  _ Merlin wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. 

The blood leaking onto the ground glowed again, briefly, and Merlin raised his head to sniff the air.

Cautiously, Arthur watched him although he would have preferred if Merlin stepped away from the unicorn’s body to avoid any  _ side effects.  _ “What’s happening?” he asked harshly. “What’s going on with the blood?”

“You cannot stop it. You cannot end it. You can only finish what you’ve begun,” Merlin inflected tonelessly. “He cometh.”

Heart beating out of his chest, Arthur scrambled to get as far away from Merlin as possible.

This was it. Merlin had finally tipped over the edge and was going to  _ kill  _ him over the unicorn. He shouldn’t have trusted-

_ “Stop running, Pendragon.”  _ A voice ordered.

It wasn’t Merlin’s.

Chest heaving, Arthur obeyed. He would rather die facing his executioner than be stabbed through the back like a fleeing coward.

Unless Merlin took action, the knights would be clueless about what was going on. He hoped they would have the sense to realize he would not be returning to the campfire and escape the forest as soon as possible before the fae decided to kill them, too, for Arthur’s deed.

He turned around.

In between Merlin and the dead unicorn and Arthur stood a white-robed figure, its face shrouded by a hood.

Behind him, Merlin made a motion with his hands, like he was trying to push himself up using air off the ground.

Arthur sent him a confused look, so he did it again.

_ Oh.  _ He wanted Arthur to  _ kneel.  _

Indecision raged through him. It was  _ never _ a good thing to anger fae, but Arthur wasn’t an ordinary citizen of Camelot. He was the crown prince. Surely that equated to some form of royalty in their minds? 

“ _ Arthur, kneel,”  _ Merlin hissed.

The white figure did not acknowledge Merlin’s words.

Begrudgingly, Arthur knelt.

“I am Anhora, guardian of the unicorns,” the figure proceeded as soon as Arthur’s knee touched the dirt. “You have killed one of my creatures and must pay the price.”

Arthur didn’t know how to respond. Was he supposed to accept the condemnation or defend himself? He could hardly deny it - the corpse was lying in the woods behind him.

Was he supposed to let this fae kill him?

Then again, what could he do to stop it?

Would Merlin?

Merlin seemed slightly interested or concerned about the proceedings. His brow furrowed as he got to his feet. 

“Young fae.” Anhora turned around to face him, leaving his back exposed to Arthur.

He looked down at the crossbow still clutched in his hands. Although he was tempted to shoot Anhora, he doubted he could load it and set the tension without him noticing.

“Anhora,” Merlin returned. “Have we met before?”

A rumble of a laugh emitted from Anhora’s chest. 

What in  _ fae  _ was Merlin doing?

“We have. But you more than likely do not remember me, Em-”

“Right,” Merlin interrupted him, nearly giving Arthur a heart attack at his blatant disrespect. “I apologize that I do not remember our past acquaintance. I beseech you to look around, Anhora, and to see if there is another path that you might follow. The forest is lovely tonight.”

Arthur was truly flabbergasted. Merlin was asking Anhora to take a  _ stroll?  _

He was going to get them ruddy  _ killed  _ if not-

“You cannot evade the moon. It will rise and set with the sun. The day has been spent, and no one, not even  _ you,  _ can hold back the coming of the night.”

“Please,” Merlin begged. “Aren’t some days longer than others? Aren’t some nights shorter than others? Don’t storms come, don’t-”

Anhora raised a hand, cutting Merlin off. “Only a shadow would curse the moon.”

“But what if the shadow is blind?” Merlin persisted. “Would you credit it against him for not knowing what he sees?”

The longer they spoke, the more panicked Arthur because although he would never show it. No wonder Merlin was confusing most of the time - the deeper into the conversation Merlin and Anhora went, the deeper Arthur sunk into hopelessness and bewilderment.

Anhora raised a finger. “There would have to be proof.”

“Give us time, and I will show you proof,” Merlin vowed. “The blind may see.”

The bolder, angrier side of Arthur suggested he demand to know to what they were referring, but he kept his mouth closed since it seemed Merlin was pleading his case for him.

He just wasn’t sure how well.

“And why should I?” Anhora asked, tilting his head to the side, his back still to Arthur.

“Because of the Once and Future King.”

Silence.

Arthur barely allowed himself to breathe.

“I see,” Anhora finally said. “Very well. I shall give him two chances - one for the moon, one for the sun, and none for the stars. If he fails…”

Merlin bowed. “Thank you, Guardian.”

Anhora let out another rumble in acceptance. “It is a pity that you cannot come to the Court, Emrys. They would enjoy you if not for what happened.”

Merlin frowned. “What? I don’t remember. What happened?”

As though a shadow had passed over, Anhora disappeared.

…

Arthur stared down at his hands. In between his fingers, grains of sand slid, almost as fine as silk.

All of the water in Camelot was sand.

“Where’s Merlin?” he asked Elyan over his shoulder.

“Did he cause this, sire?” Elyan asked.

“Blast it if I know,” Arthur snapped. “Just get him for me wherever he is.”

It was a lie. 

Arthur was certain that the sand was because of the unicorn he had killed. Somewhere in the confusing conversation between Anhora and Merlin, he should have picked up on the fact that there would be greater consequences.

“What do we tell the people, sire?” Percival asked. “Several have already asked where they may fill their buckets.”

Well, it looked like Merlin was going to get out of filling up his bath that evening.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll decide after I speak with Merlin.”

Ha. What a state he had come to. Consulting with an idiot - who was also a fae - before he made a decision. His father would be disgusted.

It was a good thing his father wasn’t around.

Merlin materialized at his side. “Yes, sire?”

A little tension left his spine. “Merlin. Do you notice any problems around here?”

Merlin let out a soft sigh. “Do I need to punch another hole in your belt?”

A flash of anger rising in him, Arthur stiffened. “Are you trying to be funny? If you haven’t been paying attention, there are more important matters. Look. Sand.”

Merlin looked down. “Ah. Sand. Anhora has a sense of humor. The moon. Sand. How perfect.”

Arthur scooped up a handful and thrust it at Merlin, grains cascading out between his fingers. “Can you fix this?”

“In public?”

Arthur glanced around. Although the knights were doing a fine job of keeping people out of earshot, they weren’t out of  _ eyeshot.  _ “Tonight. Can you fix it tonight?”

“I can try,” Merlin offered hesitantly.

That was good enough for Arthur. “Leon, I want you to lead an expedition to the river by the plain. Bring back as much water as you can. Take Gwaine and Percival with you.”

“Right away, sire.”

Even though he was no longer touching it, Arthur could still feel the sand underneath his fingernails.

…

Merlin’s magic could not fix it. He was fae, he explained, but even he was unable to bend this law. This time.

The knights could not bring back enough water to quench all the parched throats of Camelot. As he lay in bed, Arthur heard the cries of the thirsty.

…

Arthur stood on the top of the castle, hands resting on the stood of the balustrade.

“I don’t get it, Merlin,” he said. “Why punish Camelot for one unicorn?”

It didn’t make sense. Why threaten the existence of the entire country because of one act? 

“I think you know,” Merlin remarked quietly. “Or at least, the answer is buried somewhere in that thick skull of yours.”

For once, Merlin’s insults were devoid of humor.

…

Fire burned along the edges of Camelot, turning the horizon into a haze of reddish smoke.

“Merlin, I need you to promise me that you  _ did not do this,”  _ Arthur said.

“I didn’t.”

“Why is Anhora doing this, then? I thought he was supposed to  _ test  _ me. Whatever that means.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“Then who in fae did?” he demanded, running a hand through his hair.

Merlin looked at him sadly. “It was you, Arthur.”

…

Arthur tried to kill the grain thief.

He disappeared in a flash of smoke.

…

Merlin was right, of course.

As food rotted in warehouses, the weaker and elderly began to die. Slowly, at first, but the numbers increased too much to go unnoticed.

Uther was in an uproar, demanded searches for fae throughout the city to destroy the root of the problem.

And Arthur realized that _ he  _ was the cause of their predicament. If he had refrained from shooting the unicorn, none of them would be facing future starvation.

It was his fault.

And he would have to make amends with Anhora. Perhaps...if he offered up something of equal value to the unicorn’s life, Anhora would be lenient on Camelot. He could save the rest of its people.

“Where are you going?”

“Fie!” Arthur smacked his head on the fireplace. “Merlin, what in fae are you doing up at this hour? How did you sneak up here?” The hour was turning midnight, and Merlin usually complained about having to stay any later than ten.

Peeking in through the crack in the door, Merlin made a face. “I didn’t  _ sneak.”  _

Whatever, he decided. He didn’t have the time to discuss semantics with Merlin. “I am going to the forest to find Anhora.”

“You can’t kill him, Arthur, if that’s what you’re planning,” Merlin said, coming further into the room. 

“I’m not,” Arthur replied grimly as he picked up his sword.

“Really?”

“I’m going to ask him to…”

“I’m coming with you.”

The last thing he wanted was for Merlin to have to explain to his father why he was lugging the dead body of the prince of Camelot back to the castle. “No, you are not. You are staying here, and that’s an order. I have to go alone.”

Merlin lifted his eyebrows defiantly. “And what makes you think you’re going to be able to keep me here?”

The thought of shackling Merlin in the dungeons crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. That would be cruel. “You cannot stop me,” he said. “You yourself said I did it.”

“Technically, I did not.”

Was Merlin really going to stand there and debate the semantics of language with Arthur?

After hesitating for a moment, Arthur set his sword back down and made for the door. At Merlin, he paused. “Goodbye, Merlin,” he said, slapping his manservant on the shoulder.

“Good  _ night,  _ Arthur.”

…

The trees were a moving labyrinth. 

As Arthur trudged along, he gathered the feeling that they were leading him on a twisted path with no beginning and no ending. It was definitely of fae design.

“Hello?” he called out every once in a while into the mist that wrapped around the leaves. “Anhora? Guardian?”

No reply came. He was left to keep marching forward and hope that Anhora would let him find him soon. 

For ten more minutes, he walked on, feeling more hopeless and angry as he went. Didn’t Anhora recognize that people were dying? 

Arthur rounded another corner. At last, the trees formed a solid path that pointed Arthur straight forwards towards an empty grassy space where a table with two chairs was set up. As Arthur drew nearer, he could distinguish two goblets sitting on top of a red table cloth.

In one of the chairs sat the white-robed unicorn guardian, glowing from an inner light.

Even when Arthur approached, he did not move, but greeted him with,  _ “Pendragon.”  _

Arthur swallowed.

“Take a seat.” 

“Thank you.” Arthur sat down in one of the chairs.

Clasping his hands, Anhora leaned forward on the table in front of him. “I thought you would come.”

“Listen.” Arthur crossed his arms. “I’m not sure what nonsense you and Merlin were talking about with the moon and the sun and two tries, but I’ve come to make amends for the creature I killed.”

“I know.” 

“What do I have to do?”

Anhora nudged one of the goblets forward and withdrew two casks from the folds of his robe. “One of these is filled with poison. The other is not. Both of the bottles are identical. Although I may know which is which, you do not. Pour one into the goblets, and if you perish, the people of Camelot will be saved.”

“You are risking your own life?” Arthur found it difficult to believe that Anhora would give such an option.

Anhora smiled, setting both casks gently on the table in front of him.

Blood pounding through his ears, Arthurs stared at the bottles, wondering if there was a way to  _ ensure  _ their salvation. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the growing havok.

Without asking Anhora permission, he grabbed both casks and emptied their contents into his own goblet.

_ “Arthur, wait! Don’t drink it!”  _

Arthur startled.

Anhora’s head snapped up.

Merlin ran down the labyrinth’s path towards them, nearly tripping over his own feet as he closed the last feet between him in the table. Panting heavily, he leaned on it. “Arthur, don’t. Let me drink it.”

“The trees should not have let you in,” Anhora hissed. 

“The trees happen to like me,” Merlin told him petulantly, still panting. “Now give me the goblet.”

“No. I thought I told you to stay behind!” Arthur picked up the goblet and stood, backing away from Merlin to put as much distance between them as possible without leaving the area. “You’ve drunk poison for me once. This time, I caused it, and I’m going to fix it.” Before more people died of starvation.

“He failed the two chances,” Anhora reminded Merlin sternly. “This is the only way to remedy the situation in the eyes of the Court.”

“For the love of Freya,” Merlin swore like a sailor, making Anhora twitch in surprise.

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. There was no reason for Merlin to  _ want  _ to drink it for him.  _ Arthur  _ was the one who had killed the unicorn.  _ Arthur  _ was the one who attacked the man stealing the grain.  _ Arthur  _ was the one who had caused all of this. Even if he hadn’t known the rules of the Court...it had been foolish to kill the unicorn simply to keep Merlin from passing into its world.

He saw that  _ now,  _ but it was too late.

He downed the goblet.

“Arthur!”

…

He awoke with dirt in his face and Merlin apologizing to his body.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to drop you this time, but you’re rather heavy. We might need to cut back on the sausages.”

“Don’t,” he grunted.

“Arthur? Oh, good, you’re awake.”

Awake? Shouldn’t he have been dead?

“Do you think you can get to your feet?”

Instead of replying, Arthur gradually pushed himself off the ground. He felt groggy, like the time he broke his arm and Gaius had given him some poppy juice. “What happened?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head.

Merlin pursed his lips. “Anhora is a clotpole. Apparently, your willingness to drink  _ both  _ of the potions was enough to reverse it.”

“Oh...good.”

“I’m not carrying you the rest of the way back to Camelot,” Merlin told him a trifle sourly. 

“You could barely lift a sack of flour,” Arthur retorted, still getting over the fact that he was alive, “and I don’t need your help.”

Merlin harrumphed. “Good. I’ll just leave you to get dressed on your own tomorrow morning, then, since you don’t need me.”

Unsteadily, Arthur took a few steps forward to test his head before determining that he was correct about not needing Merlin.

At least, not needing him  _ that much.  _

“Arthur, look,” Merlin whispered suddenly, grabbing his arm. “Over there.”

“What?” To see more clearly, Arthur rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes and followed where Merlin’s finger was pointing.

In between the trees stood a magnificent white horse, a horn proudly protruding from its head. On its chest where Arthur’s crossbolt had been buried was a patch of darker hair. The unicorn shook its mane, sending water droplets flying through the air.

It had been reversed.

For several minutes, they stared at it, before it wheeled around and galloped back into the forest.

“Merlin?” Awkwardly, Arthur cleared his throat, grabbing an overhead tree branch for support. “Thank you. For being willing to drink poison. Again. Even if you didn’t actually do anything.”

Merlin snorted in amusement. For a while, he stared at Arthur, tilting his head to the side, before he cryptically remarked, “You’re getting there, Arthur. You’re getting there.”


	9. Pure Discrimination

“Arthur,” Merlin said with the chastising tone of a mother hen, “you  _ know  _ I’m not going to touch any metal. I would prefer not to train with you.”

“In that case, I would  _ prefer  _ not to train with the princess as well,” Gwaine called out, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead, as he passed them on the way to the fountain of water. “If Merlin’s getting out of it.”

“ _ Merlin,”  _ Arthur corrected, “is not getting out of anything.” 

Puffing, Merlin tried to unbuckle Arthur’s bracer without touching its metal components. “YOu know, whoever’s cleaning this isn’t doing a very good job of it. You should find someone else.”

“Hurry up,” Arthur complained. “You’re as slow as a tortoise. And do you have someone in  _ mind?  _ Because I highly doubt that you do.”

“Yes, actually,” Merlin huffed. “Gwen.”

“Gwen? Gwen, as in Morgana’s maidservant? Guinevere?” He wasn’t sure he had heard that correctly. 

“Yes. Why?”

“I didn’t know you were friends with Gwen?”

Exasperated, Merlin sighed. “That’s what you got out of this?” 

Arthur scowled at him. “I can get out of this whatever I want.”

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds, Arthur?” With a final grunt, Merlin tugged at the uncooperative strap with all of his might.

It broke.

Arthur glared at Merlin. “You broke it.” It wouldn’t take that long for someone to repair it, of course, but it was still annoying to have to go through the process when he was in the middle of using it.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t made me tighten it so much in the first place.” Merlin bent down to grab the scrap of leather from where it had slipped from his fingers. 

Sometimes, Arthur just could not  _ believe  _ the reasoning that Merlin used sometimes. It was like listening to a child. “ _ Pardon me _ for not wanting my arm sliced off by one of my knights.”

Merlin shrugged as though the matter were entirely up to Arthur’s own personal preference. “We’re entitled to our own opinions.”

Because of the knight’s clanking armor, Arthur heard Elyan before he saw him. 

“Here are the quarterstaffs, sire.” Elyan handed one over to him.

Merlin looked from Elyan to Arthur and back again. “Oh,  _ no, no, no.  _ I’m not doing that.”

Arthur took great pleasure in making Merlin do things (that wouldn’t bring about  _ much  _ bodily harm - he wasn’t that cruel).

“Come on,” Elyan encouraged him. “He’ll go light on you since you’re a beginner.”

Merlin looked less than thrilled as he accepted the quarterstaff from Elyan.

“What?” Arthur taunted. “The great Emrys who can face Anhora, the guardian of the unicorns, is afraid of a piece of wood?”

“Don’t call me that,” Merlin snapped. “That’s not my name.”

Arthur blinked. “Anhora used it.”

“Well, so do the trees, but they don’t always know what they’re talking about, either, okay?” Now, Merlin was downright uncomfortable, shifting back and forth and his feet and twisting his hands over the wood of the quarterstaff.

Merlin was hiding something. Arthur leaned forward, placing his body weight on his own staff. “You wouldn’t care to clue me in on anything, would you,  _ Mer _ lin?” He tried to make his tone light and playful but couldn’t help the hard edge that slipped into it.

Merlin winced. “It’s a last name, like Pendragon. Or a title! I don’t really know, and I don’t remember where it came from. I don’t like being called it, but the trees insist on doing so.”

“You don’t remember?” Arthur repeated, narrowing his eyes at his manservant. Merlin really  _ did  _ appear to be confused, but that was also how he normally came across. 

“Listen, can we just drop this?” Merlin clutched his quarterstaff. “We can bash - sorry,  _ you  _ can bash me around for a bit now.”

“Are you telling me that you don’t find it slightly concerning that you don’t remember half your life?” Arthur became seriously annoyed if he forgot where he left a certain paper or where his sausages were going when he wasn’t looking.

Merlin spotted something behind Arthur. “Lancelot!” he called, relief filling his voice. He abandoned the quarterstaff in favor of trotting over to the knight. 

“Hello, Merlin.”

“Would you mind telling Gwen that Arthur’s armor needs fixing the next time you see her?”

Arthur sighed through his teeth and bent to pick up Merlin’s discarded quarterstaff. One of these days, he would figure out what had happened with Merlin, and the fae wouldn’t be able to hide it from him.

His only hope was that it wouldn’t be disastrous.

…

Stretching to work out all of the kinks in his back, Arthur abandoned his desk in favor of moving to his window to look out at the courtyard and countryside. 

Merlin had begged a day off in order to search for herbs for Gaius in the woods, and although Arthur was somewhat reluctant to let his manservant go trapezing out there after the incident with the unicorn, Gaius assured him that the trip was absolutely necessary. 

Now, he was quite enjoying the time away from the pesky fae. No one was singing bawdy tavern tunes (the idea of where Merlin could have picked those up was nothing short of frightening), and he didn’t have to keep glancing over his shoulder to try to catch Merlin in the act of using magic.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to his side and took another long look at the view.

From here, he could see the forest where Merlin supposedly was.

Was that smoke he saw? Arthur frowned. A forest fire? If so, the knights would need to take care of that straight away before it reached the barley fields. The smoke already formed a high pillar.

As Arthur watched, the smoke began to swirl and change shape.

Before his very eyes, it formed into a horse that reared on its hind legs before galloping into a circle. With one hurdle, the smoke burst apart.

The fire was out.

And Merlin was in  _ so  _ much trouble.

…

“Merlin. I want you to give me a straight answer. Did you or did you not mess with the smoke?”

Merlin paused oiling Arthur’s knife sheath. “How would I give you a crooked answer? I didn’t know you could do that. Do all of your answers have shapes?”

“Don’t be such an idiot,  _ Mer _ lin. This is a serious matter. Did you or did you not mess with the smoke?” he demanded. 

“It is impossible to touch fire without being burned,” Merlin informed him.

“ _ With magic,”  _ he clarified. Talking to Merlin was like trying to convince a five-year-old boy to admit that he had stolen a pie from an old lady’s window sill.

Merlin huffed. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the ruddy question.”

“Fine. Yes, that was me. Did you like it? I thought the mane was a nice touch.”

“Did I like it?” What sort of a foolish question was that? “Merlin, that’s not the point.”

Merlin stuck his tongue into the cheek.

Weren’t fae supposed to be clever creatures? Obviously, Arthur was going to have to clarify if he wanted this dumbwitted fae to understand him. “The point is that you used magic. In front of everybody.”

Merlin spared him a glance. “So? I was in a forest.”

“The  _ smoke wasn’t.”  _ Arthur ground the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Every Tom, Dick, and Jerry could have seen that! If they report back to my father, he is going to instigate a search. I can’t have you waltzing around turning buckets into toads and making daisies dance-”

“I have never turned a bucket into a toad,” Merlin interrupted.

Arthur glared at him.

“Sorry.”

“You need to stop all... _ that,”  _ Arthur finished elegantly, splaying his hands out in front of him. “Just...don’t. All right?”

Amiably, Merlin nodded. “All right, Arthur. No magic in front of other people. I’ve got it. Won’t do it again. Promise.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. 

Merlin looked innocently back at him.

…

“Toads, sire. Coming out of the water.”

From his position behind his father, Arthur cursed Merlin in his head for every stupid trick his manservant had ever pulled.

No buckets into toads, his foot. He was hearing the evidence in front of him. The next time his lazy manservant of a fae  _ lied  _ to him-

“Daisies on the side of the road, dancing, sire!” Another village girl testified. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she continuously bobbed up and down as though she wanted to curtsy to King Uther but wasn’t sure if it was the appropriate time or not.

In the background, Merlin innocently stood with Gaius. He was staring up at the ceiling as though the wooden beams were the most interesting thing in the world.

Arthur was going to have to speak with Merlin later about his subtleness because he had seen more graceful newborn calves.

“As you can see,” the Faefinder purred. “We have a situation on our hands.”

King Uther leaned forward, resting his fist on his chin. “I say we have. How many other reports have you heard?”

“Hundreds, m’lord,” the Faefinder assured him. “And it all began with the column of smoke in the forest.”

“I see.” 

Frankly, Arthur was surprised that his father was exercising enough restraint to not leap out of his chair and demand a search of the entire palace at that moment.

He could not keep Merlin away from the metal.

“If you will give me permission, m’lord-”

And, no doubt, a small fee.

“-I would be willing to ferret out any fae blood guilty for causing this disruption.”

Uther was nodding before the fae finder could finish his sentence. “You have my permission. Get rid of it as soon as possible.”

The Faefinder smiled wickedly. “As you wish, m’lord, it will be done.” He bowed.

The village girls that he had dragged around to testify curtsied to Uther.

Arthur forced himself to remain relaxed and outwardly calm as those in attendance including Merlin and Gaius filed out of the room after paying their respects. 

“If I may take my leave, Father-” Arthur began.

With a wave of his hand, Uther dismissed him.

There was a glint in his eye. It was not unfamiliar to Arthur.

It was the look of a hunter on the trail of a kill.

…

“Is something worrying you, sire?” Lancelot asked him.

“Nothing,” he growled. “Absolutely nothing.”

Lancelot checked both ways before leaning in closer and dropping his voice. “Is it Merlin?”

Why, when he was upset, did the knights assume it had something to do with Merlin? “Merlin is an idiot.”

“Ah.” Lancelot straightened. “Is this about this afternoon and King Uther? If so, I could have a talk with Merlin.”

“You do it.” Arthur sighed. “I don’t think Merlin listens to a word I say. He never does as he’s told!”

Lancelot smiled and clapped Arthur on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk with him.”

“Thank you. And while you’re at it, remind him that he needs to muck out my stable again. I nearly stepped in a clod of...well...you know.”

Sagely, Lancelot nodded. 

Five minutes after his conversation with Lancelot, Merlin burst into his rooms. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Leaning back in his chair, where he was stuck signing papers again, Arthur quirked an eyebrow at the fae. “Nothing to do with what,  _ Mer _ lin?”

In his mind, it was Merlin’s fault until proven otherwise. 

“I had nothing to do with the frogs or toads  _ or  _ the daisies.” Merlin jutted his chin out as though he expected Arthur to contradict him.

His assumption was right. “If not you, then who else?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, another fae?”

Unfortunately, Merlin had a point. “I can’t stop the proceedings, you know.” Arthur leaned forward in his chair. “This is because of the smoke horse you made. It’s your fault, and you’re going to have to sit it out and suffer the consequences.”

Merlin made a petulant face.

“I would recommend  _ avoiding  _ the Faefinder, but I assume Gaius has already told you that. I don’t want to go through all of the trouble of finding another manservant.”

“Does that mean I get the day off?”

“No. It means stay out of sight. And while you’re a sitting duck, why don’t you go muck out the stables? I’m sure Lancelot told you about them.”

Merlin glowered.

It was as effective as an angry bunny.

…

The Faefinder laid traps about the castle. 

Although Arthur was oblivious to their presence, Merlin complained about them at every opportunity.

“I  _ know  _ they’re there, Arthur. I can feel them. Can you just ask Gwaine to cut them down or something and claim he was drunk?” 

“If you want them gone so badly, why don’t you ask Gwaine himself?” Arthur snapped, running a hand over his face to wake himself up properly. It wasn’t his fault Merlin had disobeyed and used his magic when he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t have to drag Arthur out at the crack of dawn to do it.

“The Faefinder has demanded an audience with your father this afternoon,” Merlin informed him as he opened the curtains further and worked at securing them. “He says he has results.”

“What?” Arthur demanded, suddenly completely awake. “Why was I not informed about this?

“You were. I just informed you.”

“Did he…” Arthur didn’t want to ask. He didn’t  _ think  _ Merlin would rummaging through his wardrobe so cheerfully if the results were negative. 

“Nope!” 

Merlin emerged from the wardrobe with a green shirt. “I don’t believe it!” he exclaimed. “The crown prince of Camelot with another color besides red in his wardrobe? Wait until your father hears about this!”

Arthur scowled. “Just find me a blasted red shirt, Merlin.”

Merlin snickered and dove back into the wardrobe, whistling, “In Scarlet Town, where I was boooooorn, there was a faaaair-”

“Stop that.”

“-maaaiden. Made ev’ry youth-”

Merlin was about as tone death as the frogs that kept popping up in conversation.

As he waited for Merlin to find a new shirt, he plugged his ears.

After he was dressed, he went to find Gaius to see if the court physician knew something about what was going on. He was just turning a corner when he bumped into a figure.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed as a basket in her hands went crashing to the floor. 

It was Gwen.

Arthur hadn’t spoken to her since Merlin had been poisoned.

“Allow me to just pick this up, and I’ll get out of your way.” In one load, she scooped up all of the clothing that had fallen out and dumped it in the basket. Straightening it up with it in hand, she curtsied to Arthur before bustling around him.

For a minute, Arthur stood there, blinking. Then, he shook himself and went on his way.

Gaius was in his chambers.

“Ah, how may I help you, Prince Arthur?” Gaius asked, setting down a mortar and pestle on the worn table in the center of the room.

“Did you hear of the meeting with the Faefinder this afternoon?”

Gaius nodded. “I did. Your father asked me to attend.”

Arthur threw his hands into the air. “Why am I the last blasted person to hear about this?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer.

While he was in the physician’s chambers, he might as well kill two birds with one stone. “By the way, has the Faefinder been poking around Merlin?”

Gaius pointed to something above the door. “He hung that above the door the other day and told me to report to him if any of my patients exhibited negative symptoms.”

A worm of doubt began to gnaw its way through Arthur’s head.

“But I am sure it’s all right, Prince Arthur,” Gaius assured him. “Merlin is the last person he would expect to be fae. You do not have to worry about the matter.”

“Worried? Why would you think I’m worried?” The idea was ridiculous. Merlin could lie in whatever hole he dug for all Arthur cared.

Gaius simply raised his eyebrow again.

…

“I have determined the name of the figure in this castle who is fae!” the Faefinder declared, throwing his arms wide as though he expected applause.

No one gave it to him - yet.

Arthur shifted all of his weight onto his right foot and crossed his arms in expectation.

“Who is it?” Uther demanded when the silence exceeded his expectation.

“The name of the fae is…Merlin!”

A gasp flew about the castle staff assembled for the spectacle. “Merlin?”

“Surely not him.”

“He’s just a boy!”

“Quiet!” Uther bellowed. Silence fell on the court.

Arthur forced himself to release his grip on the hilt of his sword. There was nothing he could do. Interfering would be treason. If Merlin had done something else to give himself away...that was it.

“What proof do you have of this?” Uther asked in a neutral tone.

“A simple test is all it takes, m’lord.”

“M’lord,” Gaius broke in urgently. “The Faefinder has gone mad. I’ve lived with this boy. There’s no way he’s fae.”

“The idea is ridiculous,” Arthur agreed. “My manservant is nothing more than a simpleton. Quite the opposite of  _ fae.”  _

Merlin looked both insulted and relieved at Arthur’s words. 

“Metal, m’lord,” the Faefinder begged. “Metal is all it takes.”

“I’ve got nothing to fear,” Merlin proclaimed, stepping forward boldly. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Arthur could not believe his ears.

What in fae was Merlin  _ thinking?  _

Behind Arthur, Morgan, who had insisted on following him, groaned. Arthur turned. 

“Arthur-” She reached forward, clutching at his arm. “I don’t feel too well.”

As though she’d caught the plague, Arthur stared at her. Was she ill in the head? Morgana usually  _ refused  _ to acknowledge that she was feeling ill or rely upon Arthur for assistance. 

Drawing the attention of everyone in the room, Morgana let out a loud gasp and pitched forward - straight into Arthur’s arms.

It couldn’t have been orchestrated more perfectly by traveling performers.

Uther was on his feet. As Arthur lowered Morgana to the ground, propping her up on the side of Uther’s throne, Gaius rushed forward.

“What’s wrong?”

While Gaius pushed him out of the way, Arthur took a step back.

After a few seconds of murmuring questions to her, checking her pulse, and feeling her forehead with the back of his hand, Gaius straightened up.

“What’s wrong with her?” Uther asked.

“I believe Lady Morgana simply needs to rest,” Gaius said. “She has been straining herself too much during activities.”

Accepting the verdict, Uther nodded. “Help Lady Morgana to her room.”

“Yes, Father.” Before helping Gaius ease Morgana to her feet, Arthur turned and looked for Merlin.

His manservant was nowhere to be found. 

…

“Where are you going?”

Arthur nearly jumped out of his armor. “Merlin, blast it, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Merlin stepped out from the hallway he had been hiding in. “Sorry,” he offered apologetically. 

“I’m going to  _ check  _ on Morgana.”

In actuality, Arthur didn’t really believe that Morgana had been feeling ill, and he wanted to fish around to determine exactly how much she knew.

“Oh, good, I’ll come along with you. I was wondering how she was feeling after this afternoon. Do you think she’s going to be all right? I wasn’t around for that part.”

Arthur shot a sideways glance at Merlin. Either he was extremely naive or completely unfamiliar with Morgana’s nature.

As they arrived at Morgana’s door, they met Gwen exiting it. Closing the door behind her, Gwen smiled. “Hello, Merlin.” Then, she curtsied. “My lord.”

Why did  _ Merlin  _ get recognized first?

“How is she?” Arthur asked.

“She is well,” Gwen answered. “Right now, she’s reading a book. I think it’s all right if you want to talk to her, my lord.” She ducked her head.

A strand of her hair was loose from its bun. Arthur resisted the ridiculous urge to fix it even if they couldn’t have their palace servants looking harried.

After smiling at Merlin, Gwen scurried down the corridor.

“She’s nice,” Merlin observed. “My first week here, she helped me find all of the places I was unfamiliar with.”

“Obviously, she failed to show you the laundry.” Arthur stepped forward and rapped the back of his knuckles on Morgana’s door.

“Excuse me.”

The oily voice stopped Arthur’s second knock.

He turned around to discover the Faefinder standing in the corridor behind them. 

“Hello,” Merlin greeted him. “Do you need help? I’m pretty good at polishing boots.”

Arthur could beg to differ, but it wasn’t the appropriate time to be pointing that out. 

“M’lord.” The Faefinder bowed to Arthur. “I have come to collect your manservant. He has been...mysteriously absent the past day.”

Merlin grinned. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had a stable to muck out. Can’t let His Highness step in what comes out the rear end of a horse, you know?”

At Merlin’s vulgar reference, the Faefinder wrinkled his nose. 

Merlin continued smiling. 

“ _ Mer _ lin-” Arthur began.

At that moment, Uther rounded the corner of the hallway. “There you are,” he said coldly.

The hallway was getting crowded. “You can’t be possibly after Merlin still,” Arthur huffed. “Shouldn’t you be chasing after the real fae instead of terrorizing witless castle servants?”

“One test is all it takes,” the Faefinder assured him smoothly. 

From the folds of his cloak, he removed a metal bracelet.

It was always a bracelet. Arthur couldn’t understand why they never used a plain square of metal, but then he supposed that it was better for restraint should it actually burn someone.

“Of course,” Merlin agreed brightly.

Arthur wanted to bash him on the side of the head with a quarterstaff to keep him from utter other nonsense. 

Morgana’s door opened. “What’s going on out here?” she demanded, poking her head out. “Why are all of you standing outside my door?”

“Nothing, my lady,” the Faefinder assured her, bowing. “Just a simple test.”

Morgana stepped out fully. “You  _ cannot  _ be serious.”

That’s what Arthur had said, and yet no one was listening to him.

“I am, my lady. If the boy is innocent of fae blood as he claims, there shouldn’t be a problem, and I will continue my search.” The Faefinder reached forward for Merlin’s wrist.

And the idiot willingly offered it.

Arthur had never felt so angry at Merlin before.

“One quick question,” Merlin interrupted him, drawing back slightly. “Have you been around a swamp?”

“Excuse me?” the Faefinder inquired haughtily. 

“What’s this codswallop?” Uther demanded.

“I’m serious,” Merlin assured them. “I was just wondering. I have a very good nose, and you sort of smell like a swamp. You know, those nice places where frogs and toads live?”

Morgana covered her nose and mouth with her hand. Arthur wondered if she was disguising a laugh or about to reenact her ill spell from the previous day. In case it was the latter, he shifted towards her slightly, but she sent him an annoyed look through her fingers.

“And,” Merlin continued. “I noticed that you keep handling all of your metal instruments with  _ gloves.  _ Is there a reason you’re avoiding touching the metal?”

Arthur had never noticed it before, but the Faefinder was pinching the metal cuff between his thumb and first finger.

It was a very peculiar way to grab a bracelet.

“Take your glove off,” Uther ordered.

It was almost as though Merlin knew the observation would instantly arouse his suspicions.

“This is ridiculous!” the Faefinder exploded. “I am the Faefinder. Are you going to accuse me on the remark of a mere servant?”

“Take the gloves off,” Arthur said. “If it’s just the remark of a mere servant, you have nothing to worry about.”

The Faefinder’s eye twitched. 

“ _ Honestly-”  _ Morgana began, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by a choking noise.

It came from the Faefinder.

Confused, he held a hand up to his throat, but he was unable to stop the next cough that slipped out. “Excuse me, m’lord.” Again, he choked, doubling over and clutching his stomach. The metal bracelet fell from his fingers.

Arthur bent down and scooped it up. He straightened in time to witness the Faefinder gagging.

The greenest, fattest, bumpiest, and  _ ugliest  _ toad Arthur had ever seen dropped from his mouth and landed on the floor in front of Morgana and Arthur with a soft  _ plop.  _

It croaked.

“I have no idea-” the Faefinder began, his eyes widening, but he was forced to break off and gag again.

Another toad.

“ _ Fae,”  _ Uther hissed. “Guards!”

“I can explain-”

The thudded in the castle corridor, signalling the arrival of soldiers.

Panic filled the Faefinder’s face as his eyes darted left and right. Both exits were blocked by royals or Merlin. Arthur eyed him, looking for an opportunity to get the metal cuff around his wrist.

Even though he was prepared, he completely did not expect the Faefinder to withdraw a knife and dive towards Morgana.

She screamed.

“Hey!” Arthur yelled.

But he didn’t stab her. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her and held the knife to her throat. “Don’t come any closer!” he warned. “I’ll slit her throat.”

“That’s rude,” Merlin remarked.

“Release her,” Uther ordered, “immediately.”

Right eye twitching, the Faefinder began to back down the corridor, dragging Morgana in front of him. 

As guards came running into the corridor, Arthur tossed the cuff to the side and withdrew his sword.

Merlin was standing slightly off to the left.

“Get out of my way,” the Faefinder warned, “or the king’s ward will die.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Merlin apologized, stepping to the side. “I didn’t mean to get in the way.”

King Uther growled. Arthur was trying to determine how to get Morgana away from the Faefinder without either one of them being killed, but no solutions came to his hurried mind.

_ Blast it,  _ he swore in his head.

“Let me just get out of your way, then,” Merlin said as the Faefinder backpedaled. “Apologies.” As the Faefinder passed, however, he subtly stuck out his foot.

Because his gaze was focused on Arthur, Uther, and the guards, Morgana’s captor was completely unaware of the boot in his path.

He went crashing to the floor.

In a flash, Arthur had his sword at his throat. Morgana rolled away from him. Whenever the Faefinder attempted to prop himself up on his elbows, Arthur pressed the tip of his blade into his Adam’s apple. “Remain where you are. Morgana, are you all right?”

She smoothed down the front of her dress and twisted her hair back out of her face. “Of course,” she answered, clearing her throat.

Within a minute, guards relieved Arthur and clapped the Faefinder in irons. They dragged him away cursing.

Arthur turned around to discover Uther and Merlin face to face.

“You  _ imbecile,”  _ Uther seethed. “You could have caused the death of my _ ward.”  _

“But I didn’t,” Merlin pointed out, pressing his hands lightly together in front of his body as though he were praying. “And since I saved her life, we’ll let it go this time?”

A look of disgust rolling on his face, Uther turned to Arthur. “Throw him in the stocks.”

“What?” Merlin squawked.

“Yes, Father.”

Uther stormed down the hallway.

“Come on, Merlin.” Arthur grabbed his manservant’s arm. “It’s to the stocks with you.”

“Come on,” Merlin protested. “You can’t be serious. I just saved Morgana’s life!”

Arthur looked over his shoulder to make sure Morgana was out of earshot. “Yes,” he replied in a low tone, “but you’re also the one who used your magic in the first place to get us  _ into _ this mess.”

“No gratitude,” Merlin grumbled. “No gratitude at all. Pure discrimination. This is about the big ears, isn’t it?”


	10. You Can't Fire Merlin

“It would be my absolute honor to serve you, the prince of Camelot,” Cedric gushed.

Arthur was impressed. He had only met the man several times over the course of the past week (somehow, he kept popping up when Merlin wasn’t around), but he had made a good impression on Arthur.

For one, he didn’t come across as lazy and imcompetant. Second, he seemed to value working for a member of the royal household exceedingly more than Merlin, who compared him to bovines and other various livestock on a regular basis. Finally, Arthur knew that fae blood didn’t run through his veins because he had seen him grab a metal tray without so much as a wince or a burn. Although Arthur wasn’t exactly not-prejudiced or prejudiced against fae blood (it was a mess)...it was easier to trust Cedric than Merlin, in a way. 

If he was trying to make a bid for the position of Arthur’s manservant, he was doing an excellent job.

“I see,” Arthur mused. 

At that moment, Merlin was taking care of some other task somewhere else. From past experience, he would probably return in an hour, so there was no chance of him interrupting while Arthur mulled over the problem. 

Merlin had saved his life, a small part of his brain reminded him.  _ Was sacking him any way to repay the debt?  _

No, but Merlin also made him jumpy half of the time. Merlin said weird, savage, and soft things. Merlin got a strange, far-away look in his eye. Just when Arthur thought Merlin was a normal person, he surprised Arthur in some way. He was constantly reminded that Merlin was far from human.

But what would he do if Merlin decided he didn’t like being sacked?

There were unlimited possibilities to what an enraged fae could do to the surrounding citadel.

To Arthur.

Merlin, however, hated blood. Surely he could distract Merlin. Since he was always complaining about what a great “prat” Arthur was, he would no doubt be  _ relieved  _ to be released from his duties. 

And his father would certainly improve after the incident with the Faefinder and Merlin’s insubordination.

He came to a decision. 

“I need to speak with one of my men, but you may attend to my manservant’s duties tomorrow morning,” Arthur told Cedric. “I will speak with Merlin.”

Cedric beamed. “Thank you, sire. I am  _ truly  _ appreciative of this opportunity to serve you and Camelot.” Deeply, he bowed.

Arthur found the corner of his lips turning up.

Perhaps he was making the right decision.

…

“Have you met that fellow Cedric?” Merlin complained as he folded Arthur’s laundry. “He’s  _ awful. “ _

“Yes, I have met him.” Arthur covered up a yawn with his palm. Some scholar had found an ancient secret passage (a title that made Arthur snorted when he thought about it) underneath the castle, and with the loud tappings of the excavation, Arthur had been unable to obtain a good night’s rest.

“Then you know what a terrible bootlicker he is!” Merlin threw his hands in the air, tossing a sock to the left.

It handed on Arthur’s face.

_ This  _ was why he was replacing Merlin with Cedric.

“I think he’s even worse than  _ George,”  _ Merlin went on, oblivious as Arthur gingerly removed the sock from his face.

“Merlin, you gossip worse than a grandmother.” Arthur wadded up the sock and threw it at the back of Merlin’s head.

Inhumanly, Merlin ducked and caught it without looking back.

Arthur shivered.

Another reminder.

But then Merlin turned and grinned at him. “You should hear some of the tortoises if you think I’m bad.”

Instantly, Arthur felt guilty. 

Merlin didn’t know what was coming to him. He would be angry, sure, but more than likely, he would be hurt at being sacked.

He was torn between the two.

“Listen,” he said gruffly. “I haven’t been able to get a decent sleep lately-”

“Is that why you’ve been such a grouch?” Merlin asked him.

“Yes. I mean - no! Quit trying to distract me,  _ Mer _ lin. I haven’t been able to sleep well because of the racket they’re making down there.”

Merlin nodded in understanding. “The excavation.”

“Yes. I want you to go down and tell them to be more quiet,” Arthur instructed.

“But it’s cold down there,” Merlin complained. “The part under the castle is  _ dank  _ and  _ awful  _ and-”

Wait a second. “Since when have  _ you  _ been down there?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin paled. “Uh...the Aufric or whatever it’s called?” he tried.

Something was suspicious about this. “Are you  _ asking  _ me or telling me?” he stood. “When  _ else  _ have you been down below the castle?”

Arthur himself hadn’t made the trip since he was a child and was exploring the foregin parts of the castle while playing hide and seek with Morgana. 

“I’m... _ telling  _ you,” Merlin decided. “It’s dank and awful. But don’t you worry about it!” he tacked on hastily. “I’ll go tell them right away to cut down on the racket.” Before Arthru could comment or inquire further, Merlin ducked out the door, abandoning the laundry and scattering it about the room like cracked corn for ducks.

The conversation cemented Arthur’s decision. Merlin was acting  _ awfully  _ suspicious. Perhaps it would be better if Merlin worked elsewhere in the castle. 

And, if he were lucky, it would take Merlin a little bit of time to figure out that he’d been fired.

After all, it had taken Merlin three weeks to figure out where the kitchens were, and that was  _ with  _ Gwen’s help.

…

Merlin stood in the middle of his room, mouth agape. “What?”

“You can take the day off,” Arthur repeated irritably. “Go collect herbs for Gaius something or visit the tavern like Gwaine does. I don’t really care.”

Cedric was going to be there any minute to “officially” wake Arthur up, and he would rather that the two did  _ not  _ cross paths. Merlin was only there so early because he insisted Arthur rise with the sun to appreciate its true beauty or some other rot like that.

Arthur couldn’t treasure or admire anything when his eyes were plastered shut.

“Are you feeling ill?” Merlin advanced towards him, his palm outstretched. “Let me check your forehead for a fever.”

“No!” Arthur swatted out him and scooted as far away from him as he could on the bed. 

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin chided him. 

It gave him flashbacks to his old nursemaid. 

“No. Why aren’t you leaving? Haven’t you been bugging me for days on end for a day off?” Arthur frowned. He couldn’t think of a solid reason for Merlin to  _ need  _ a day off, and the possibilities of what one fae could do in twenty-four hours were, frankly, quite frightening. Perhaps…

“Yes, but you’re acting very suspicious.” Merlin eyed him. “Are you sure you’re not ill and trying to cover it up? I thought you would sleep better tonight. I got the excavators to be quieter.”

Suspicious. That was why. Merlin was suspicious. “I’m not ill. Now get out of here before I make you.” Arthur reached for his boots, which were underneath his bed on that side.

Merlin shot him a  _ look  _ that was a cross between suspicious and hurt and made his way to the door. “If I come back tomorrow, and you’re hacking your lungs out onto the floor, you can go get Gaius yourself,” he shot over his shoulder sulkily.

“Fine!”

The door slammed shut behind the fae.

Slouching back down into his pillow, Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief. Merlin was distracted for the whole day, and he had  _ plenty  _ of time to figure out how to deal with the situation.

Perfect.

A respectful knock resounded on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

Cedric opened the door. “Ah, I see you are awake, sire. May I tempt you with some breakfast?”

As his new manservant brought in a tray full of food, Arthur breathed out another sigh of happiness. 

As he picked up his goblet of wine, he thought,  _ here’s to less stressful days and less checking over my shoulder.  _

…

“Where’s Merlin?” Percival asked him, taking a scoop of water out of the training barrel.

Arthur adjusted his gloves. “He has the day off.”

Percival shot him a strange look. “The day off? Since when did you give  _ Merlin  _ a day off?”

Arthur scowled. Merlin was  _ his  _ manservant, and he didn’t see why half of the castle had to question where he was. “He’s my ruddy manservant, and I’ll give him a day off whenever I please.”

“That’s the problem,” Percival chose his words carefully. “You never please.”

Before Arthur could reply (he had a scathing answer on the tip of his tongue that was sure to nip any further investigation in the bud), Leon approached them, raking a hand across his sweaty forehead. 

“Hey, where’s Merlin?” he asked.

This was getting a little ridiculous.

“The whereabouts of my mans-  _ Merlin  _ does not concern any of you,” Arthur declared. “I suggest you leave the matter alone.”

Leon crossed his arms. “If you will allow me to be so blunt, sire, out with it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Arthur could not believe what he was hearing. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“We just want to know what happened between you and Merlin.”

By now, their confrontation had attracted the other nights, and a tight circle was forming around Arthur. He didn’t like it. He felt trapped. There was no reason for them to corner the prince of Camelot like that.

“ _ Nothing  _ happened between Merlin and me,” Arthur stressed. “He is a servant.”

“Did you insult him worse than usual?” Gwaine asked. “Say something about his mother or father, by any chance?”

“His mother or father? No, of course not!” Although Arthur  _ was  _ dreadfully curious about where Merlin had come from, it was awkward to pry into Merlin’s personal affairs. Merlin clammed up at all attempts to find out  _ anything.  _

Leon and Percival exchanged glances.

“Listen,” Gwaine tried. “Whatever this rift between you and Merlin is, we want to help the two of you fix it. Did he say something about Gwen?”

“ _ Gwen?”  _ This was getting ridiculous! “What in the blue blazes does  _ Gwen  _ have to do with this? Has Merlin been interacting with her a lot? Did he threaten her or something?” 

Fie, he’d forgotten to tell Morgana to warn Gwen to stay away from Merlin.

“No,” Lancelot said carefully. 

“Well...good.”

Arthur didn’t know why he was so relieved.

“We just want to know why you gave Merlin the day off,” Gwaine said. “And make sure that everything’s fine.”

Arthur felt as though he were about to explode. “Nothing. Happened. Merlin has the day off. That is  _ all.”  _

Once more, the circle exchanged glances.

Exasperated, Arthur shouldered his way past them. As he walked off, he overheard the last bits of their conversation.

_ “We should talk to Merlin.”  _

_ “I’ll go find him.” _

_ “I’ll take Arthur.” _

…

“So, you’re the one who drew the short stick,” Arthur snapped whenever he heard the light thud of boots against the hay of the stables. He continued petting the horse, working his fingers into its mane.

Lancelot held up his hands as he came side by side with Arthur. “We’re just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

Lancelot didn’t comment but reached into his pocket and took out an apple, which he extended to Arthur.

Although Arthur was tempted to refuse the apple on principle, the horse butted him in the arm. Whenever he gave the fruit to it, it crunched through it noisily.

“We just know how...temperamental fae can be,” Lancelot began. “We don’t want any...issues cropping up.”

Oh. Well, that made much more sense. They weren’t concerned about his and Merlin’s  _ relationship.  _ They were concerned about not causing a magical war. 

Arthur found he didn’t mind pouring out the problem so much, then.

“I gave him the day off because I’m trying to figure out how to fire him,” Arthur said.

Lancelot raised his eyebrows. “Fire  _ Merlin?”  _

“Yes. First off, he is a  _ horrible  _ manservant. He barely knows how to scrub. He’s insubordinate, and he makes me feel on edge.” Arthur could have compiled a much greater list, but he didn’t want to drive away his only supporter. 

“I thought…” Lancelot chose his words carefully. “I thought you were much more  _ relaxed  _ about Merlin even though...”

Even though he was a fae.

“Yes, well. I’ve found a much more suitable replacement.” Arthur continued to pat the horse even when it began sniffing his sleeves in search of another apple. 

Cedric  _ was  _ more suitable to the position. And he wasn’t fae. And he cared a whole lot more about position and propriety than Merlin did.

As he waited for Lancelot’s judgment, he repeated this argument over in his head. There was no reason for him to be  _ ashamed  _ of his decision. 

“I see,” Lancelot said carefully. “I take it you haven’t told Merlin yet?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to?” Lancelot offered. 

Arthur latched on to his offer. “Yes, thank you.”

“All right.” Lancelot reached out to scritch behind the horse’s ear. “You know...you can always change your mind.”

“Of course.”

Lancelot turned to leave.

The matter was settled.

…

Merlin burst into his rooms. “You  _ can’t  _ be serious!”

Arthur started. “ _ Merlin! What in-” _

Merlin marched straight up to him and stuck a finger in his face. “You fired me!”

Suddenly, Arthur felt very cold. He hadn’t  _ intended  _ for Merlin to actually  _ come back.  _ That was why he had asked Lancelot in the first place. It was better to deal with Merlin at a distance - especially when Merlin was bound to get angry.

What if Merlin decided to kill him? Surely he wouldn’t have saved Arthur’s life twice (or was it thrice?). 

“There’s no reason to get angry,” Arthur said.

“It’s because of that  _ numbskull  _ Cedric, isn’t it?” Merlin seethed.

Arthur had never seen Merlin so angry before. The finger pointed at Arthur’s face was shaking.

Merlin took Arthur’s silence for a positive answer. “I  _ knew  _ it,” he fumed. He turned away and stomped around the room before returning to Arthur, who was paralyzed in his chair. “I refuse to accept your firing.”

So he wasn’t going to die.

But Merlin’s assertion wasn’t much  _ better.  _

“Excuse me?” Arthur demanded. “I am the prince of Camelot. If I say that you’re fired, you’re fired.”

“Your opinion has been duly noted and duly  _ ignored.” _

Arthur was flabbergasted. “Excuse me?” he said more incredulously.

“I’m going to find this Cedric,” Merlin threatened, his eyes flashing and the bit of magic around him flaring up, “and when I  _ do-”  _

Here was the homicidal part. “Please,” Arthur begged. “Please do not kill Cedric.”

Merlin walked over and banged his head into the wall. “How many times do I have to tell you - I’m a half-pacifist!”

Merlin wasn’t making any sense. Perhaps he was so angry he was insane.

He had to try something to keep the situation from escalating further. If Merin used his magic, if he  _ attacked  _ Arthur, if Uther found  _ out -  _ “Merlin, for the safety of everyone involved, get out.”

Looking over his shoulder, Merlin sent Arthur a hurt look. “I thought you were finally starting to like me.”

_ Why  _ in fae did Merlin have to look like a kicked puppy?

_ Fie,  _ he was in such a mess.

“I’m leaving,” Merlin told him sourly, solving the quandary for him. “But I’ll be back. I’m going to prove to you that Cedric is up to no good.”

“That’s what you always say,” Arthur pointed out, gaining a little courage back now that he saw which way the conversation was going. No one was going to be murdered.

“That’s because I’m always right.” On his way out, Merlin slammed the door, making the wood rattle.

Arthur breathed out a shaky sigh of relief. 

…

That evening, as Arthur was drifting off to sleep after a perfectly normal day and a perfectly normal new manservant, the rattling started.

_ Boom. Boom. Thud. Tsssssssss. _

Groaning, he rolled over. “Blast you, Merlin,” he muttered before remembering that he’d sacked Merlin and that Cedric would be asleep at that hour.

_ Boom. _

Rolling over, he plugged his ears, but the noises seemed to be amplified as the evening continued.

Eventually, Arthur sat up.

He did not catch much sleep that night. 

…

_ Boom. Crack. Boom.  _

The past twenty-four hours had been a living nightmare for Arthur. Everything had been normal. Everything had been perfect. He was no longer distracted trying to catch Merlin using magic behind his back, and no infernal whistling rang in his ears all hours of the day.

He was miserable.

And now he was condemned to listen to the shriekings of the excavations until the wee hours of the morning. That afternoon, his father had informed him of the tomb that had been discovered, but Arthur had been focusing more on staying awake than on his father’s words.

The knights had been quieter than usual, and when he ran into Gwen in the hallways, she brushed past him without a smile or a stutter. To top it off, Morgana, although there was no reason it should have been any of her concern, had shot him a nasty look. 

He didn’t understand it. It should have been  _ easy  _ to let Merlin go. It should have been a  _ relief.  _

Why was it so ruddy awful?

_ Scratch.  _

Groaning, Arthur rolled over and muffled his mouth with his pillow. The  _ creativity  _ of the sounds was increasing.

The scratching noise happened again, and Arthur was tempted to throw a goblet somewhere.

Wait a second.

The scratching noise wasn’t coming from the floor. It was coming from his  _ window,  _ and it sounded as though something were scraping against the stone.

Despite the sleepy fog threatening to descend upon his mind, Arthur tossed the covers off. 

On his way over to the window, he jammed his feet into his boots and snatched up his sword from where it was leaning against the wall, prepared.

_ Scritch.  _

Without prior warning, Arthur threw open the tapestry.

_ SCREEEEEEEEEE.  _

At the same time, a large mass fell from the window.

Arthur thrust the upper half of his body out of the window. 

A large black shadow fell to the ground and cracked, scattering across the cobblestones in hundreds of pieces. 

A figure stepped out of the shadows and waved at him.

“Merlin?”

Although there was no way that the fae could have heard him from up there, Merlin jerked a hand up in recognition. It wasn’t exactly a friendly wave, but it was more recognition than he had been expecting.

“What in fae is going on?” he hissed.

Angrily, Merlin gestured at the stones.

Arthur yanked himself back in the window. Miming wasn’t going to get them anywhere. 

As he pulled the tapestry shut, someone knocked on his door. “Who is it?” he asked, bending down to lace up his boots.

_ “Me.” _

Through the thick wood of the door, he recognized Gwaine’s voice.

Arthur threw open the door. “ _ What  _ is going on?”

“ _ Someone  _ enchanted the statues of the griffins,” Gwaine explained, and for once, he wasn’t telling a tall tale under the influence of a heavy round of stout.

“ _ Someone?”  _

Arthur was going to wring Merlin’s skinny neck.

“Not  _ our  _ someone. Someone else’s someone. Merlin didn’t explain it very well. You coming?”

“Of course.” Arthur yanked on a shirt. “Let’s go.”

He followed Gwaine throughout the awakening castle. Every once in a while, another rumble broke out from underneath the castle.

Out in the street, the noises were louder, and the ground shook. As soon as he spotted them, Merlin ran over. “Griffins,” he explained shortly.

“That’s what you told me last time,” Gwaine complained. “I want to know  _ how  _ and  _ which  _ person to beat up.”

Arthur found it very difficult to look Merlin in the face. 

Merlin whirled around, raised a hand, and shot off a stream of words. Although Arthur couldn’t see his eyes, a blast of magic erupted in the air, shattering another stone creature.

“Do you have it under control?” Arthur asked.

Merlin turned around. “No. I don’t know the right words.”

“Blimey!” Gwaine exclaimed. “Aren’t you a fae?”

“Yes, but I’ve had a little bit of a memory problem since I woke up!”

If Gwaine and Merlin continued at it, nothing would get done. He could forget about the whole mess with Merlin and Cedric later. “What do you need us to do?”

“There’s a dragon in your basement,” Merlin promptly informed him. “I need you to keep everyone safe from the griffins while I go pledge myself to be his eternal servant in return for the right words.”

Above the noise, Gwaine whistled through his teeth. “Wow, Merlin, mate, are you sure you want to do that?”

“What do you mean, there’s a dragon in my basement?” Arthur demanded. “Is this some sort of a joke to you?”

“Not literally! Can you do that?”

“Yes. Go,” Arthur ordered, drawing his sword. 

Merlin dashed off.

“The other knights are going to be here soon,” Gwaine said, “but those things can climb castle walls. What do you think our chances of survival are?”

“Slim,” Arthur replied grimly as the next griffin bounded around a corner of a building. “Very slim.”

…

Arthur’s hand was bruised and bleeding, but he refused to let the sword drop from his grasp. The griffin must have been able to sense the tangy liquid, for it cocked its head to the side and let out a caw of triumph.

None of the other knights were in sight. 

As it prepared to leap, its muscles bunched.

Arthur braced himself, widening his stance. 

“Ha!” someone cried.

A chunk of stone cracked into the griffin’s head, and it collapsed over on its side.

“Gwen?”

In amazement, Gwen took a step backwards as she took in what she had just done before looking up. “Your Highness! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! Have you seen the others?”

“Yes.”

Still shocked at what she had just done, Gwen brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Where’s Merlin?”

That was what they were all wondering. Arthur half-expected a dragon to come crashing out of the roof of the castle, but there had been no sign of either a large fiery beast or a small fiery fae. 

“ _ You!”  _

The word rang about the street, attracting the attention of the rest of the griffins. 

But it wasn’t Merlin’s voice. It was  _ Cedric’s,  _ but much colder and harsher than Arthur remembered.

After pushing Gwen to the safety of a building, Arthur ran towards it.

_ “Yes, me!”  _ a saucy voice replied.

What in the ruddy name of fae was  _ happening?  _ Why was Cedric there? 

Trying to find the two of them in the maze of streets was akin to finding a cask of wine that Gwaine hadn’t touched or laid his eyes on. 

Merlin shouted a string of words in the language of magic.

Around Arthur, the griffins collapsed into piles of rubble, sending up miniature dust clouds. Without the crashing of the mythical beasts, Arthur was able to find Merlin and Cedric.

In the center of the street, the two of them stood facing each other. It looked like some strange and melodramatic duel, but neither of them were moving. As he approached them, Arthur raised his sword.

“Merlin, is he fae?” he yelled.

Their heads snapped in his direction.

“No, no, no, no, no.” Merlin took a step forward. “Arthur, get out of here.”

Whenever they finished this debatacle, Arthur needed to straighten Merlin out on who was ordering whom, but for the moment, he concentrated on Cedric.

“Is he fae?” he repeated, keeping the sword elevated towards Cedric’s neck despite the distance between them.

“No, it’s worse!” Merlin cried.

Arthur didn’t see what could be worse than a fae besides the literal King of Fae.

“He’s possessed! By a ghost!”

Cedric smiled. “My name is Cornelius Sigan. I was once fae.”

Merlin began shooting out words rapid-fire. “His essence - I can’t remember the exact words to describe it in human terms, but it was trapped in a stone in the basement.”

Gradually advancing, Arthur nodded.

“And Cedric here was  _ going  _ to steal all of your silver teaspoons, but when he heard about the  _ artifacts  _ in the tomb - including the blue stone, which you  _ might  _ not remember your father telling you about because you were half-asleep - he decided-”

“Enough!” Cedric/Sigan cut Merlin off. “I do  _ not  _ have the patience to listen to your prattle.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Arthur muttered before raising his voice. “What do you want?”

“Power, Pendragon. And may I say that  _ Merlin  _ is only slightly correct. ‘Cedric’ cannot use magic. But I can.”

Before Arthur could digest the words, a loud crack sounded over his head, and when he looked up, he was met with blackness. 

…

Arthur became conscious to the sound of voices. 

Because of the ringing in his ears, however, he was unable to hear what was being said. As he groaned, his head lolled to the side. 

For a brief moment, he caught a bit of their conversation.

_ “I serve Arthur, not you.”  _

_ “Do you think the High King will be pleased to hear about this?”  _

_ “You won’t be able to tell him,”  _ Merlin shot back.

Their voices danced in and out of the fog for several seconds before Arthur’s head cleared again. 

Then, Merlin was hissing,  _ “I do not care if he hears. I am Emrys.”  _

A crack.

A flash of light that burned the inside of Arthur’s eyes. 

Silence.

…

“I  _ knew  _ Cedric was up to no good,” Merlin crowed. “But did you listen to me?”

“You can drop me and let me die,” Arthur muttered to Leon, who was shouldering him. 

Leon made a rumble of amusement in the back of his throat.

“Nooo,” Merlin went on. “You don’t listen to  _ Merlin.  _ What does he know?”

Arthur was considering passing out, but catching a sight of Gwen approaching, picking her way through the stones scattered about, stopped them. He checked for any sign of injuries, but aside from wrinkles in her dress, she appeared to be fine.

“Instead,” Merlin continued, “we  _ fire  _ Merlin!”

Why were  _ none _ of the assembled knights stopping him?

As she came up to Arthur, Gwen curtsied. “Are you all right, sire?”

Well, at least one person cared enough to ask. “I’ll be fine after a few stitches.” Although his skin and muscles pulled, he made a fist with one hand.

“Would you like me to fetch the court physician?” Gwen asked. 

“I’ll handle it,” Elyan volunteered before Arthur could speak up, shooting Merlin a look that indicated he thought the fae was crazy. 

“ _ And we don’t even tell him to his face because we are a  _ prat _!”  _ Merlin concluded, his face turning red.

Along with reporting to his father, Arthur was going to have the gash on his side stitched and his hand bandaged. Afterwards, he was going to take a nice, hot bath; eat a nice, hot dinner; and crawl into his nice warm bed. But first?

First, he was going to fix the mess that he had started in the first place. If he had trusted Merlin in the first place and thrown Cedric out...

“Merlin,” he interrupted the tirade, “while it is encouraging to hear you use words outside your normal limited vocabulary, don’t you have something else you need to be doing?”

“Like what?” Merlin demanded haughtily, putting his hands on his hips. 

Despite their exhaustion, none of the remaining knights or Gwen moved. For some strange reason, they looked to Arthur expectantly. 

“Like what?” Arthur gave Merlin his best  _ you are a lazy, good-for-nothing imbecile  _ look. “Like  _ polishing my boots.”  _


	11. Merlin Is Obsessed with Milk

Merlin was obsessed with milk.

Arthur discovered this fact for the first time whenever the cook  _ demanded  _ to have an audience with him and then proceeded to drag Merlin in by the ear protesting the whole nine yards.

Since Arthur was still paying penance for unjustly “firing” Merlin, he felt awkward at the whole situation.

“Well? Aren’t you going to do somethin’ with ‘im?” Cook charged. “‘E’s always comin’ into my kitch’n, stealin’ buns and other sweet things. That, I can handle, what with ‘im being an underfed boy. But all my milk?”

“Sorry,” Merlin muttered.

Cook looked only slightly sated. “‘E’s worse than Sir Gwaine in the wine cellars!”

“I will pay you back for every single drop of the extra milk that Merlin took,” Arthur said.

“Oh, thanks.” Merlin quit shuffling his feet.

“Don’t thank me. It’s being taken out of your salary. As will any more excessive tankards...or whatever you call them.”

Merlin was obviously  _ not  _ happy with the decision, but Cook released his ear, which her grip on had been slowly slipping because Merlin was at least a foot and a half taller than she was.

“Good.” She uncrossed her arms. “Thank you, Your Highness.” Without further ado, she turned and stomped from the room.

Arthur crossed his arms. “Now, Merlin, would you care to explain what in  _ fae  _ was  _ that?” _

…

At the next practice of the knights, Arthur took Gwaine aside. “Listen, I want you to keep an eye on Merlin.”

Gwaine quirked an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

“Yes. We have a problem on our hands. I think he is an addict.”

His second eyebrow raised to join the first. “Oh, he is? I never would have guessed it.”

It was hard to tell whether he was being serious or not.

“I held counsel with Cook earlier this afternoon. Keep him away from the tavern,” Arthur directed. 

“Isn’t that sort of like asking the fox to guard the henhouse?”

“Yes, but if he gets this way with milk, imagine what he’ll do with alcohol.” 

Gwaine’s eyes went wide. “Milk? Not the milk!”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I’m being serious.”

But Gwaine’s face was breaking out into a crooked grin. “That’s a good joke, Arthur. I was beginning to think you were turning into Lord High and Mighty for a while there, but you fooled me.”

“Gwaine. I’m being serious.”

Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder. “Wait until I tell it to the rest of them.” Chuckling, he walked off.

Arthur sighed.

…

Arthur propped his elbow on the side of the chair and rested his cheek on one or two of his splayed fingers. The council room was stuffier than normal, but Uther for some unknown reason detested using servants to move the air about a bit. 

Arthur despised council meetings. Unless Uther prematurely called one, they were usually boring and dealt with issues such as corn disputes and the color of the ceremonial draperies used at the preceding year’s festival.

Merin wasn’t doing his job, either. Although Arthur instructed him to keep his goblet running over, Merlin either forgot because he was too busy admiring the painted gallery on the ceiling or looking out the window.

If Arthur had been younger, he would have been tempted to gaze out at the free world as well. The first time he had done it, however, Uther had punished him, so he was forced to make all appearances of being at attention.

About half of his goblet remained full. If he was patient, he could make the rest of it last the whole evening even though it was distasteful to only wet his tongue every once in a while.

Discreetly, Merlin coughed behind him, and Arthur straightened his marginally slouched position. 

“Although we have clashed with him in the past, King Cenred has requested that we send a battalion to aid him in driving away barbarians.”

At the word  _ barbarians,  _ Arthur’s interest was slightly piqued. 

“I am considering sending him a group.”

Now, Arthur was  _ definitely  _ interested. “But you just pointed out, Father, that we have not exactly been on good terms with King Cenred.” At the moment, he could think of no logical reason to accede to the request.

“I am  _ aware  _ of that.” Uther looked down at the missive. “King Cenred, however, has agreed to  _ pay  _ for our services, and I believe that agreeing would also serve in Camelot’s best interests.”

“Really.” Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Uther said impatiently. “These barbarians are always causing trouble at our borders. Let conflict happen where fewer of our subjects are destined to be hurt.”

Arthur toyed with the stem of his goblet. “Very well. Whom are you sending?”

Uther flicked a hand. “You and your men may go. I believe they are looking for a bit more  _ action  _ than frolicking through the woods.”

Behind Arthur, Merlin hacked, choking on something.

In annoyance, Arthur half-turned. “Do you  _ mind?”  _ he asked harshly.

“Sorry,” Merlin coughed out. “Air went down the wrong pipe.”

Uther was neither pleased at the interruption nor the excuse. He wrinkled his nose. 

“When do you want us to leave?” Arthur asked, mentally going through everything that he (or rather,  _ Merlin)  _ would have to prepare.

“A week.”

A week? A week was longer than he expected. Arthur would have given himself until tomorrow morning.

“I want to ensure that we receive the payment  _ before  _ we complete the task. I have grown no trust for Cenred.”

Arthur nodded. It made sense. “All right. Is there anything else that we should know?”

“Yes. The farmers on the south side-”

Arthur tuned out the rest of the meeting.

…

“Make sure you tighten the girth,” Arthur reminded Merlin. “And pack my bags. And have someone sharpen my sword.”

“Or I could just use magic and do that for you,” Merlin grumbled. “You owe it to me after passing my job along to someone else.”

Arthur ignored him. “This time, would you mind packing some socks that  _ don’t  _ have holes in them?”

“I darned the last pair as soon as you pointed them out.”

“Three hours later.”

“Details. You’re not packing a lot of socks, anyway.”

“That’s why I want them to be devoid of holes.” The last time it had happened, Gwaine had offered him a pair.

The smell. He would always remember the smell.

“All right. Anything else?” Merlin stopped bustling around the room for a moment and puffed. “Where are we going, anyway, that needs all this?” 

“Essetir. More specifically, the charming village of Ealdor.”

Merlin froze, the generally pleasant expression slipping off his face. “What?”

“Ealdor in Essetir. King Cenred’s kingdom.” Although it was quite possible that Merlin was unfamiliar with the surrounding nations because he had been asleep for an indeterminable period of time.

“We’re going there?”

“Is your head made of  _ mashed potatoes _ ?” How many times did he have to repeat it for Merlin to understand.

“Sorry.” Merlin backed away and snagged a pair of socks off Arthur’s bed. 

“I’ll darn these for you,” he offered. “Before the trip.” Like a starving wary squirrel, he left the room, tripping over the corner of Arthur’s rug on the way out.

…

The rest of the week, Merlin acted like a rabbit in the middle of a pack of wolves. Instead of the typical rapid-fire quips, he stuttered over his words, and he didn’t even try to get away with magic  _ once.  _

Arthur was slightly concerned (but not too much, because he was the prince of Camelot and Merlin was fae).

…

“It’s  _ good  _ to be back in the saddle again!” Gwaine declared. “The wind in my hair, the sun on my face.” Beneath him, his horse shook its mane in agreement as it ambled along.

Compared to the stuffy council room chamber, the outdoors were ten times as satisfying. In a generous mood, Arthur bent forward and patted his horse’s neck. 

“I’m looking forward to a night of sleeping underneath the stars,” Percival remarked. 

“Hey, Merlin,” Leon said. “Do you know anything of the stars?”

The question reminded Arthur of one of his tutors who thought Arthur needed a proper education in the stars. Although at the time he had balked at the idea of being dragged out of his comfortable bed in the middle of the night, he had found a basic knowledge of the sky advantageous at times.

“Merlin,” Elyan prompted.

Without looking over his shoulder, Arthur snorted. It was just like Merlin to fall asleep in the saddle on a perfectly bright, spring-like day.

“Merlin,” Elyan tried again.

“Merlin, mate!” Gwaine called more loudly.

“Huh?” 

Trusting his horse for a little bit, Arthur looked over his shoulder.

Merlin was staring down at his saddle horn. In his hands were Arthur’s holey socks, and he was absent-mindedly pulling at a loose string. Almost subconsciously, he muttered something, and the thick knitted fabric began to weave itself back together. He looked up. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Someone mark the date,” Arthur jested. “An important event has occurred.”

Merlin balled up the sock as though he were going to throw it at Arthur’s head but then thought better of it because of the dusty road their horses were trampling on.

“Are you all right?” Lancelot asked as Arthur turned around again to face the path. “You’ve looked ill all week.”

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ Merlin insisted. “I’ve just been busy. You don’t have to  _ worry.”  _ He said the last word as though it were a swear word. 

“We’re not worried,” Leon assured him. “But I’m downwind from you, and I want to make sure you’re not going to puke off the side of your horse.”

Thankfully, Arthur was very much upwind.

Merlin snorted. “I don’t feel that ill.”

“ _ That  _ ill?” To place a bit of distance between him and Merlin, Arthur nudged his horse forward a little more. Because of the delay, they should have been traveling faster than they were in the first place, and the rest of the knights followed suit.

“Can we just drop it?” Merlin asked sourly.

“Not if you’re cooking our dinner,” Gwaine said, a tinge of alarm coloring his voice. “Is it the plague?”

Now it was getting a little ridiculous. “I’m  _ sure  _ Gaius would have stopped Merlin from coming along if it were  _ really  _ serious,” Arthur pointed out.

“Yes,” Merlin agreed petulantly. “Now, as I heard some of the town children say the other day,  _ shove off.”  _

Several of the knights choked. 

“Well, it’s nice to know what you’ve been doing instead of your chores,” Arthur remarked. First he charmed the castle staff and now the rest of Camelot. 

“What, jealous I’ve got a better public image and relations than you?”

“Shut up,  _ Mer _ lin.”

…

It took five days to reach Essetir.

During that time, Merlin looked positively ill and picked at his food instead of eating it and then stealing some off Arthur’s plate when he thought he wasn’t looking.

But since he had  _ insisted  _ it was nothing, Arthur ignored it and chalked it down to nerves over the prospect of an upcoming battle because of his distaste for blood. It was either a miracle or a stupidity that he had joined them or that he was Gaius’s assistant.

On the third day, Percival called out, “Hey! Rider!”

Pulling out his sword, Arthur brought his horse to a halt and turned her around, the others following his lead.

Sighing, Merlin stopped his horse but didn’t bother turning it around.

The first thing Arthur noticed about the rider was the skirt, which was closely followed by the curly hair loose from her cap and the worn traveling cape over her shoulders.

“Guinevere?”

At first, Arthur felt himself smiling at the fact that Gwen was there.

Then, he realized that Gwen was there.

Where she should not have been.

“Guinevere?!” Arthur urged his horse forward to meet her before the rest of the knights. “What are you doing here? It isn’t safe for a young lady to travel alone on these roads. Shouldn’t you be with Morgana?”

“It’s perfectly all right,” Gwen stated, stopping her horse when she and Arthur were facing each other. “And my father is a blacksmith.”

Arthur did not see what that had to do with anything. “What are you  _ doing  _ here?”

From behind him, Merlin called out, “Oh, hey, Gwen! Good to see you!”

“No, it’s not. Guinevere should be back at the castle helping  _ Morgana,”  _ Arthur corrected. “Elyan, would you please escort your sister-”

Gwen pursed her lips. “I’m here on Lady Morgana’s orders.”

How Arthur knew his cousin had gone mad. “What?”

“Right after you left, King Uther started acting weird.”

Lightly, Merlin laughed as he came up beside Arthur. “Wow. That’s new.” At the sound of his laughter, his horse tossed its mane and stomped a hoof.

No one else found it funny.

“How weird?” Arthur asked. “In what manner?”

“Well…” Gwen began. “As soon as you left, he became confused as though he didn’t understand why you were missing or as though he had forgotten that he had sent you out in the first place. He wanted to send out a search party, but Gaius managed to talk him out of it.”

Arthur frowned. That  _ was  _ most uncharacteristic of his father. Uther held control of his mind in an iron fist (except where fae were involved). 

“After that…” Gwen raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side a little. “His mind is a little...off. Like he’s been bewitched or something. And I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. I am just informing you what Lady Morgana told me to.”

“Did anything else happen?” Percival asked.

Lancelot was frowning. “How long after us did you leave?” 

“A day. Frankly, I’m surprised that I caught up with you.”

Arthur turned a baleful look at Merlin. “I  _ do  _ wonder why that could possibly be.  _ Merlin.”  _

Arthur had never met someone who could drag his feet from the back of a horse. It seemed to take  _ twice  _ as long to do anything. There had been at least three hours’ delay after Melin decided it was a good idea to find flowers - something about their petals making tea leaves to calm nerves or some other medical mumbo jumbo, but Arthur  _ knew  _ it was because Merlin was simply a sissy who liked the smell.

“Sorry.” 

Gwen smiled at Merlin. “It’s all right. It gave me a chance to catch up and tell you. Morgana wanted me to warn you that whatever we’re going into might be a trap.”

“We’re?” Elyan frowned. “Gwen, I’m taking you right back to Camelot.”

Arthur had a sinking feeling that Gwen was going to protest. Although they didn’t interact much, from what he had heard from Morgana and generally, she did not back down easily despite her pleasant nature.

Since the knights were too awkward around Gwen, Elyan proceeded to argue with her. “What purpose does it serve?”

Gwen frowned. “I don’t exactly know.” 

“It’s foolish,” Elyan told her. “There are barbarians waiting in Essetir.”

“I  _ know  _ that. It’s just…” Gwen let out a small sigh of frustration. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just know that I ought to come. Gaius was concerned about Merlin before we left. Surely I could be of help somewhere. I can cook.”

Merlin sputtered.

“Oh, good!” Gwaine mimed wiping his brow. “Merlin has been declared sick. I don’t think I could go another day tasting Elyan’s  _ stew - _ if that’s what it really is.”

“Hey!” Leon defended himself. “I did the best I could.”

Arthur wouldn’t mind having Gwen around.

Wait, no, he needed to focus on the practical part of the situation. “It might not be safe back in Camelot,” he pointed out ( _ truthfully).  _

Elyan’s frown deepened. “If it’s not safe for her back in Camelot, then we should return to defend it.”

“Defend it from what?” Leon asked.

“I don’t know!” Elyan clenched a fist. 

“She came all this way,” Merlin piped up. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to send Elyan  _ all  _ the way back to Camelot. I like Gwen. Don’t you? Besides, you  _ owe me.”  _

“Pardon me?” 

“Who owes you, Merlin?” Lancelot asked. 

“Arthur.” Dropping the reins, Merlin crossed his arms. “He tried to fire me, remember? Letting Gwen join us is how he can make it up to me.”

Arthur was insulted - the  _ nerve.  _ “I don’t have to make  _ anything-”  _

“I suggest,” Lancelot interrupted politely, “that we get moving. We may already be too late.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “The west wind is feeling a little cold this evening.”

Confused, Gwen smiled at him. “Well, let’s be off, then.”

Elyan’s face portrayed the dissatisfaction that Arthur was partially feeling, but they were sorely outnumbered.

“Welcome to the troops, Lady Gwen,” Gwaine said magnanimously as he aligned his horse with hers when their line of horses resumed their journey. “May I entertain you with a song or two?”

“Leave her alone, Gwaine,” Arthur snapped. “She doesn’t want to be bothered by you.”

“No, no, it’s all right.” Although she didn’t turn red, Gwen smiled again. “I would love to.”

Out of nowhere, Merlin’s horses was suddenly beside Arthur’s. “Your eye is twitching,” he helpfully observed.

“ _ Shut up, Merlin.”  _

Merlin lowered his voice and looked back over his shoulder at Gwen and Gwaine. “Do you...do you  _ like  _ Gwen?”

“Of course not!”

“Your face tells me otherwise. Hmm. Gwen and Gwaine. Their names go together, don’t they?”

Merlin was as far away from being helpful as the stars were from earth. “It never crossed my mind,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Are you  _ sure  _ you don’t like her?”

“I said no. She’s a commoner, Merlin.” Surely Merlin knew about basic protocol when it came to royal marriages.

“So what? I’m fae.”

“Keep your voice down. She might hear you.” Although Gwen’s heart was golden, Arthur was unable to ascertain what she would do if she knew that Merlin wasn’t human. It would definitely upset her since she and Merlin seemed to be  _ so chummy.  _

Merlin shrugged.

Arthur searched around for something to change the subject before the idea stuck in Merlin’s head like a feather in tar. “Besides...you and she seemed to be... _ well-acquainted  _ with each other.” 

“Yes,” Merlin said. “No. Yes. But not in the way you’re thinking, Arthur.”

Arthur snorted. “Really? You two seem to like each other a lot.”

“Really.” Merlin’s voice quieted. For half of a minute, he said nothing, a far-away look in his eyes. “I think...I think I loved someone once. I think her name was Freya. I don’t think there’s going to be another Freya ever.”


	12. When Arthur Angers Merlin...

Arthur’s mind was racing a mile a minute. It was the most that Merlin had even mentioned about his “personal” or prior life, but Merlin did not elaborate. Instead, he changed the subject by pointing at a nearby field and remarking how the purple flowers were odd for that time of the year and that the melodies they were singing were also a little eerie.

Arthur decided that it was best to leave him alone.

But that did  _ not  _ keep the questions from racing through his mind.

Who was Freya? Was she another fae, like Merlin, or some girl who was madly in love with him (the  _ idea)  _ but unaware of his origins? Did she live in the same forest they had found Merlin in? If so, why hadn’t she gone looking for him, or why hadn’t they stumbled across her? If Merlin remembered this much about her, why hadn’t he gone looking for her?

Where was she?

It explained Merlin’s use of  _ Freya  _ in part of an exclamation.

But if Merlin loved her, why was he using her name as part of an expletive even as mild as it had been?

“Are you all right, sire?” Lancelot asked him, moving backward a little. “Are you upset about Gwen joining us? She can take care of herself.”

“It isn’t that.”

Merlin’s horse was taking a slight detour off the trail so he could inspect some fungus as they passed through a small forest, but this time, Arthur didn’t stop him. He didn’t want Merlin to hear him. “Have you ever heard Merlin mention a woman named  _ Freya?”  _

Lancelot thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Maybe once or twice, but I don’t remember any specific instances. Why?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything. And don’t mention it to Merlin.”

Lancelot nodded.

It didn’t make sense. Although Arthur could puzzle about it all he wanted, the answers to his questions were all hidden in the trap of Merlin’s mind.

…

When Essetir became visible, smoke was on the horizon. 

It boded ill for the land’s inhabitants.

“We don’t all need to go down,” Arthur decided, shielding his eyes as he took in the sight. “Elyan, Percival, both of you scout out the area. See what the situation is. And don’t get caught.”

“Guess we’ll have to do that some other time, then,” Percival joked, wheeling his horse around.

“What are the rest of us going to do?” Merlin asked.

One added benefit of Gwen’s presence was his improved mood. The last thing Arthur needed was a grumpy fairy burning down the grassland or turning their horses into spoiled brats.

“We’re going to wait.”

“That’s all?” Merlin’s voice was colored with surprise. “We’re just going to sit here on our horses, out in the middle of nowhere, and wait for Elyan and Percival to come back?”

Arthur clenched his jaw. “Do you have a better idea,  _ Mer _ lin?”

Lancelot coughed. “Perhaps we should set up a campfire to prepare dinner?”

“I want to hear what Elyan and Percival come back with. We have no idea of the surrounding area or what we might run into.”

“I’m  _ starving.”  _ Gwaine rubbed his stomach. “I could eat a horse!”

Merlin let out a horrified squeak.

“He’s only joking, Merlin,” Gwen assured him. “We don’t eat horses around here.”

Merlin only looked slightly convinced. “If you say so…”

A few minutes of silence passed in which Merlin squirmed in his saddle. Even Gwen grew a little restless and began playing with her horse’s mane.

Although Arthur would have preferred waiting in silence, Gwaine felt the need to make his presence known to the family of mice living in a nearby clump of grass. He stretched, groaning and cracking his back.

Although Arthur had heard worse from Merlin’s bones, Gwen shot him a concerned look. But she didn’t say anything. 

“Well, if we’re not doing anything,” Merlin broke into Gwaine’s cacophony, “I’m going to take a little walk. My rear is killing me.”

“Merlin!” Gwen scolded.

“I’ll join you!” Gwaine latched onto the idea. “It’d be nice to stretch my legs.”

It would have been nice to get off his horse for a bit, but Arthur was determined to wait for Percival and Elyan. He refused to budge until they returned.

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Gwaine, I like you. You’re my friend. But you scare all of the animals away.”

Gwaine turned both ways in the saddle. “What ruddy animals?”

“The  _ animals.”  _

“If there are animals, then why wasn’t there any meat in the stew last night?”

Merlin huffed. “Well, you can’t expect me to point them out to you when you can’t even see them.”

“I’ll have you know that I have the best eyes in this group!” Gwaine boasted hotly.

“With or without the ale?” Merlin shot back. 

“Should have gone with Elyan and Percival,” Leon muttered.

“Merlin, go take your blasted walk,” Arthur snapped. “You’re going to wake the dead. Gwaine, leave him alone.”

“All right.” Merlin dismounted from his horse, nearly flipping himself over the steed’s belly when he got tangled in the reigns. Gwen was forced to dismount herself in order to help him out.

“No hard feelings,” Merlin told Gwaine on the way past as he stalked off.

Gwaine shot him a hurt look.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Comedians. 

Merlin walked for a little bit and kept on going until he was a little dot against the grass.

“Should he be going that far?” Lancelot asked, shielding his eyes. “We have no idea who might be around.”

“Merlin’s fine. He has-”

Arthur almost said  _ magic  _ before remembering that Gwen was with them.

“He has what?” Gwen asked curiously.

“He has a-” Arthur’s mind scrambled for a word to throw in the sentence. “He has a-”

“A good head on his shoulders,” Lancelot finished smoothly. “He has a good head on his shoulders. He will turn around and run before he gets into trouble.”

Gwen cast a doubtful glance in the direction Merlin had disappeared. “Are you sure? He isn’t armed and...well, Merlin’s a bit naive.”

Oh, if  _ only she knew. _

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said. “Merlin’s such a simpleton. No one would bother with him.”

Gwen shot him a disappointed look. 

Instantly, Arthur felt bad - but only  _ slightly _ because Merlin had forgotten to give him his blasted socks back.

After ten more minutes of waiting, Elyan and Percival returned. 

“The village is ruined,” Elyan reported. “There were a few survivors who didn’t move elsewhere. They gave us the name of the man who did this.”

“Who is it?” Arthur doubted he would recognize the name, but it would be nice to know whom to demand to see whenever the time came.

“Someone named Kanan,” Percival said. 

“Where is Kanan now?” Arthur asked.

“He and his men moved further inland. They’re a small group - about thirty or forty, but enough to make life miserable and cause considerable damage.”

This was another aspect that did not make sense. Why would King Cenred hire  _ knights of Camelot  _ in order to fend off a group of barbarians? And why not  _ more  _ of them? Something was off about the whole affair, but Arthur couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

“I suppose we’re going to have to find Merlin and drag him back in here before we can get into any fights,” Gwaine lamented wistfully. “Could have had my knuckles split by sundown.”

“Merlin should have been back by now,” Gwen fretted. “Do you think something happened to him?”

“Merlin?” Percival asked. “Where did he go?”

“The idiot decided he wanted to go on a walk.” Out in the middle of nowhere in enemy territory. 

“How about Gwaine and I go looking for him while the rest of you set up camp,” Lancelot suggested.

Well, Arthur certainly wasn’t going to waste any time dragging Merlin back from a field of flowers. “If you want to.”

Gwen shot him another look.

She was confusing him. Arthur didn’t know what he was doing wrong, but he wanted her to stop looking at him that way.

“Come on, Gwaine.” Lancelot turned his horse in the direction Merlin had set off in. 

Whistling through his teeth, Gwaine followed after Lancelot.

Gwen’s lips were pursed in worry again, and Elyan looked as though he were about to break out into an argument of all the reasons Gwen should return to Camelot that instant.

Well, this wasn’t awkward  _ at all.  _

When Merlin returned, Arthur was going to kill him. Or, if that was a little drastic, make him spend a couple hours in the stocks appreciating tomatoes. According to Merlin, tomatoes were his fourth favorite fruit (after apples, strawberries, and blueberries), so he was  _ sure  _ to enjoy the experience.

Although Percival and Leon insisted they were able to take care of it, Gwen helped him and the knights not chasing after Merlin set up camp. 

After an hour of anxious waiting (at least, on Gwen’s part), Lancelot and Gwaine returned - without Merlin.

Arthur had a sinking feeling.

“Where is he?” he asked. “He was only gone twenty minutes. He couldn’t have gotten very far.”

Helplessly, Lancelot shrugged. “We don’t know. There wasn’t any sign of him. He didn’t even leave tracks that we could follow.”

“That’s impossible!” Gwen exclaimed. “There’s dirt everywhere between the grass. Surely he trampled  _ some _ of it down. You've seen how he walks.”

Like a drunk donkey.

“He couldn’t just fly,” Gwen insisted. “Do you think fae were involved?”

“No!” Alarm raced through Arthur. “Of course not! Why would fae be involved? That’s ridiculous.”

Gwen frowned. “No, it isn’t.” 

The last thing she needed to do was start asking questions.

“There’s a  _ perfectly  _ reasonable explanation, I’m sure,” Lancelot assured her in a calmer tone as he moved to check the stew that Gwen and Arthur had forgotten about.

“Like what?” Gwen demanded. “We need to go out searching for him. If he is lost-”

“Then there’s not much we can do to find him in the dark,” Leon said carefully.

Gwen sucked in a short breath as though she were about to protest.

Goodness, she was almost as insistent as Morgana, if not equally.

On the spot, Arthur thought of a solution. “Besides, Merlin will be fine. He is from Essetir.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“What?” Gwen turned to him. “I didn’t know that.”

During his conversation with Gaius after Merlin had drunk the poison for him, Gaius had mentioned that his younger sister was from Ealdor. It fit the situation perfectly. While Arthur was incapable of explaining the identical appearance between Merlin and Gaius’s nephew, it was an excellent cover story. “Yes,” he repeated more confidently. “Merlin was born in Ealdor.”

“Huh,” Gwaine marveled. “I could have  _ sworn-”  _

Lancelot elbowed him. 

“Oh. I didn’t know that. I wonder why Merlin never told me.” Gwen’s frown was deepening.

“It’s a sensitive subject. His mother died.”

“Oh.” Gwen put a hand to her mouth. “I see.”

“Merlin probably went to visit someone,” Lancelot concluded, “and since he knows his way around here better than any of us, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“All right,” Gwen agreed. “Though...I hope he comes back.”

“Don’t worry, he will.” And if he didn’t, Arthur was going to  _ skin  _ the fae.

As soon as Gwen’s back was turned, Gwaine gave everyone a thumbs up and a wink.

…

In the middle of the night, Merlin crept back into the campsite.

Arthur was waiting for him.

“Where in fae have you been?” he hissed, breaking into the normal chirps of the crickets.

“Ah!” Merlin jumped backwards, flailing his arms.

“Arthur! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!”

“Where did you go?” Arthur persisted. He was furious with Merlin. Not only had he left them with no explanation besides the walk, but he had also gone about it in a suspicious way. Now, Gwen was worried.

“Around.” Merlin waved a hand. “There’s a big world out there, you know. I explored a bit of it.”

“So I’ve heard.” Arthur huffed. “If you’re not going to tell me where you went, I would appreciate it if you just came out and said so instead of leaving everyone hanging.”

“Arthur, I’m not going to tell you where I went.”

“Was that so hard?”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

“If anyone asks, by the way, you’re from Essetir. Ealdor. And your mother is dead.”

“How considerate of you to inform me of that fact.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I had to tell Gwen something. She was worried.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to worry her.”

Well, he should have thought about that before trapezing off.

“I know where we’re supposed to go. I did some scouting out while I was gone,” Merlin said. 

“Oh?” Maybe something good had come out of Merlin’s disappearance.

“Yes. I’ll show you tomorrow.” Merlin tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t have to wait.”

“Don’t flatter yourself on your importance. Gwen made me.” Well, she hadn’t  _ forced  _ him to do anything (she was too respectful to command the king of Camelot), but the look on her face had driven him to do something besides sit around and twiddle his thumbs. 

“I’ll keep watch, then,” Merlin volunteered. “I’m not going to sleep, anyway.”

Although Arthur felt that there was some sort of catch since Merlin was never that generous or considerate of the amount of sleep Arthur received, he didn’t voice it. Merlin’s face was slightly drawn, and he was staring off at the campfire instead of looking at Arthur.

Something had happened wherever he had gone.

Arthur was burning with the desire to press for answers, but he had a feeling that Merlin would just shut down. And it would be a breach of what was proper. Merlin was a servant. He was a prince. It didn’t matter to him what Merlin had done.

“All right,” he agreed.

“Good night, Arthur.”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“Get out of my sight, you prat.”

…

They were welcomed into Ealdor with cheering and only a few suspicious eyes.

Arthur was glad of that. More often than not, villagers were suspicious of anyone who came claiming to be the prince of Camelot and demanded some sort of proof. They were immediately shown to the house of the village’s leader, a man by the name of Brennan. His hair was red, his beard thick, and his muscles broad, but Arthur had yet to be impressed.

After all, why were they needed there in the first place?

“They come at all hours of the day,” he told Arthur. “We don’t know when. We have to keep watch.”

“As you should.” Since the room consisted of Brennan’s kitchen and there were no papers with which to occupy himself, Arthur settled for crossing his arms. Brennan’s wife was stirring a pot on the stove and soaking up every word of their conversation.

“We don’t know how they slip past the guards, but they do. They maybe kill one or two men. Take what they want. Then, they disappear.”

“No one goes after them?”

“No. They disappear.”

“Like wraiths.” Brennan’s wife made a sign with her unoccupied hand. “Fae. Evil magic.”

“I see…” Although Uther was a bit...dramatic, Arthur knew from experience that villagers were sometimes more inclined to blame magic and fae than their king was. “What, exactly, has led you to believe this?”

Brennan’s wife took offense to his statement. She abandoned her pot of stew to stand by her husband’s chair. “Why, what else could it be?”

“Well… the ruffians…” Arthur thought it would have been obvious.

“Ha!” Brennan’s wife huffed. “It’s not  _ ruffians.  _ It’s fae. Mark my words. Magic is involved, and I hope you came prepared for them.”

If she meant in the form of bringing his own fae to the battle, then yes. The only problems were that he didn’t know if she had accidentally caught a sight of Merlin on his excursion or if Merlin would actually fight for anyone’s cause because it would  _ disturb the bunnies  _ or something like that.

“We’ll see.”

That didn’t earn him any positive points with her. She returned to her stove and resumed stirring her stew more aggressively.

Brennan winced and spread his palms wide as though to apologize, but Arthur was surprisingly used to having people (Merlin) criticize his opinions.

“I’m going to take a look around and see what I can glean.”

Although Brennan stood to join him, his wife refused to show Arthur to the door.

Outside the small house, Leon was waiting for him. 

“Well?” Arthur asked.

“The rest of the knights are helping the other men build up the village’s defenses, but there’s not much else we can do besides what they’ve already done,” Leon informed him.

“What about holes?” Arthur asked. “Were there any holes or places that someone might have snuck in through?”

Leon shook his head. “None.”

Under his breath, Arthur swore. 

Brennan scratched the back of his head. “I’m not sure what else we can do.”

_ Arthur  _ wasn’t sure what  _ he  _ was going to do, but saying that would paint a bad image of Camelot in front of Brennan.

“Your...manservant seems to get along well with the children,” Brennan observed awkwardly to fill the awkward silence that arose between them as Arthur thought about what he was going to do.

“His mind  _ is  _ rather like theirs.”

“Hey, Arthur!” Merlin poked his head out from behind a building. 

Instead of answering, Arthur simply raised his eyebrows, but Merlin didn’t seem interested in conversing once he had gotten Arthur’s attention.

Well, that was too bad because Arthur needed to have a word with him. “Merlin, get over here, you lazy toad.”

Merlin’s head disappeared.

“Leon,  _ get that idiot for me.”  _ He wasn’t going to waste his time on chasing Merlin down. “Also, where’s Guinevere?” He didn’t want to lose her amid the hustle and bustle.

“I don’t know.” Leon trudged off after Merlin. As he left, a group of children ran up to Arthur and Brennan.

“Have you seen Merlin?” one of them asked. 

“Not now,” Brennan hissed. “He is a very important man.”

At least  _ someone _ recognized that. 

So hide and seek _ was _ what Merlin was up to while he was on holiday. “Yes. He was between those two buildings.”

The children scurried off.

While they waited for Merlin to be located, Brennan cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you going to do?”

At that moment, fighting the raiders off before they burned down the village was Arthur’s best option, but Arthur couldn’t silence a nagging voice in his mind.

Maybe fae weren’t involved...but fae would explain a lot of inaccuracies.

Gwen’s report of Uther acting haywire, forgetting about his own son and the knights of Camelot. Uther might have been  _ neglectful  _ as a parent, but even that was a bit ridiculous

“I’m going to talk with my men and come up with a plan,” Arthur told him.

Brennan nodded. “Maybe the seven of you will be able to come up with more than we could.”

That was Arthur’s first idea.

…

Arthur insisted on a private room in order to confer with Merlin and the knights, but the rickety shack they were given felt as though it were covered in holes. Since Arthur didn’t trust that no ears were pressed up against the wood, he kept his voice low as he interrogated Merlin.

“Have you felt any magic around, or were you too busy playing  _ hide and seek?”  _ he snapped.

“You may  _ think  _ I’m an idiot-”

“Oh, I don’t  _ think.  _ I  _ know.”  _

_ “- _ I was actually making myself useful. I went everywhere. No one thinks twice of you if you’re playing hide and seek.”

Lancelot stifled a laugh by placing a gloved fist to his mouth.

“Someone is definitely around here,” Merlin said. “Fae. Slightly powerful than your average blood but not much more powerful.”

So Brennan’s wife had been correct.

“By any chance, do you know who it is?” Elyan asked before dropping his voice to mutter, “Blast it. Shouldn’t have let Gwen come.”

Merlin shook his head.

“Is this someone you can fight?” Arthur asked. “Before anyone gets hurt.”

“This crate is killing my backside,” Gwaine complained.

“At least you have a crate,” Percival muttered.

“No offense, but please shut up,” Merlin told them politely. “I could. I know the other person is here. I could go looking for him or her.”

“Didn’t you do that  _ yesterday?”  _ Arthur wanted to know.

“No. I was busy.”

Ha. If the situation weren’t a bit more serious, Arthur would have laughed. “ _ Busy?  _ Doing  _ what?”  _

“I…”

Merlin at a loss for words. This was a surprise. 

Merlin crossed his arms. “It doesn’t matter what I was doing, and I’m not going to tell you.”

Uncomfortably, the knights shifted, exchanging glances with each other.

Abruptly, Gwaine sprang up from his crate. “Well, I’m going to go get a breath of fresh air.”

Elyan also got to his feet. “I’m going to check on Gwen.”

“Sit back down,” Arthur ordered. “We are going to have this conversation.”

“I’d rather not-”

“ _ Shut up, Merlin.”  _

Abruptly, Merlin stood up. “Fine. I’ll  _ shut up,  _ your royal pratness. Good. Bye.” He marched for the door and slammed it behind him.

Silence.

A few seconds later, the door opened much more gently, and Gwen peeked in. “Why is Merlin so upset?”

In frustration, Arthur dropped his head and ran his fingers over his head. “I don’t  _ know _ !” Ruddy fae were so insensitive! He had just been asking what Merlin had been doing the previous evening.

Gwen gave him the  _ look.  _

The one that said she knew he was slightly a prat.

_ Oh, goodness, now Merlin’s vocabulary was infecting his.  _

-No. He needed to focus on how to fix the situation at hand, not on Merlin’s idiosyncrasies, and for that to happen, Merlin needed to come back so they could talk about it in a calmer manner.

“I see,” Gwen said even though no one had explained anything. “I’ll go find him.”

Lancelot breathed out a sigh of relief.

While they waited, Arthur went over every piece of the city in his mind. 

Something was happening with the fae. They didn’t normally try to lure the prince of Camelot to villages in the middle of Essetir. A matter greater than he could understand was afoot, and he was going to find out what in fae it was. 

As soon as Merlin returned.

BONUS SCENE:

“All right,” Merlin announced, “B.E. - also known as Rider - has decided that she wants to write another fanfiction about us!”

Arthur looked up from his desk. “What? What’s all this nonsense about someone named after a  _ verb.”  _

“Amusing for someone named after a creature he would like to kill.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Did you come in here for the sole purpose of bothering me, or is there actually a point?”

“Yes.” Merlin picked up an apple from Arthur’s fruit bowl. 

Arthur snatched it back. “Tell me what it is or get out.”

“Prat. Okay, so, I found an anonymous list of all of the things B.E. needs to write a fanfiction about us.” Merlin pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “So, first, one of us needs to die.”

“ _ Pardon me?”  _

“Oh, sorry, that’s under the  _ if I feel like making people cry  _ category. My bad. Uh…” Merlin moved further down the page. “So. We need to go on a hunting trip. Then, we need to be attacked by bandits. Having the knights there is optional. Someone - you or me, it doesn’t matter - needs to be injured or tortured. Then, we have this magnanimous heart-to-heart conversation.”

Arthur snorted. “About what? The amount of sausages on my plate every morning?”

Merlin laughed nervously. “Something like that. Then, we discover that we actually are good friends, and you order me to either clean your boots, muck out the stables, or polish your armor because you don’t know any other chores besides those.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Maybe this  _ fanfiction  _ thing isn’t such a bad idea, after all.”

“Oh, and there’s a note written at the bottom of this, but it’s in fine print.” Confused, Merlin held the paper close to his face. “ _ At some point, Merlin reveals his magic to Arthur.”  _

Silence dropped over the room.

“ _ What?” _

“You know what, I’ve got to muck out the stables!”

_ “Merlin! Get back here! What’s this about magic?”  _

FIN.


	13. How Rude

Merlin returned.

Arthur was not quite sure what Gwen had said, but he was in her debt.

Merlin scuffed his boot against the ground.

“Are you going to just stand there? An attack could happen at any moment,” Arthur reminded him, “and I would rather not be burnt to a crisp by fae.”

Merlin glared. “This is hard enough as it is. Do you have to be such a prat and a clotpole on top of it?”

Since Merlin radiated  _ tense,  _ Arthur kept silent.

“This place feels familiar.” Merlin waved a hand around. “I don’t know how - I  _ didn’t  _ know how, but when I went on that walk, I ran into a farm near here.”

Although half a dozen questions flew to Arthur’s mind, he opted to not ask them. Yet.

“I remembered something.”

He had Arthur’s attention now. “What?”

As he stared down at the ground, Merlin fiddled with the edge of his neckerchief. “My...my mother. She used to be here, I think. But not anymore.” He rubbed his forehead as though a headache were coming on.

What was Arthur supposed to do? Comfort Merlin? Ask him more about it?

He was as refined in the art of offering emotional support as his father. “That’s…” He searched for the right word.

Gwen or Lancelot would have known what to say, but Arthur was hardly competent at offering emotional support. 

Merlin must have sensed that Arthur was flailing around. “Anyway-” he began.

Suddenly, he stiffened. 

Arthur’s hand went to his sword. “What’s wrong?” he hissed.

“I sense magic.”

Arthur turned to wake the others, but Merlin put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait, don’t. You can warn the others, but let me take care of it.”

“All right,” Arthur agreed. “If you know what you’re getting into. But please don’t...explode or burn anything.” He had seen and heard of the wreckage that had come from fights with fae. 

Merlin nodded before dashing off, moving along as though the moonlight were easing his movements and blending him into the sides of the houses.

To clear his thoughts, Arthur shook his head before moving to wake them up.

…

It was still quiet when Arthur knocked on Brennan’s door. 

Sleepily, the man opened it, drowsiness crusting his eyes and making him appear far less worn than when he was awake. “What’s going on?”

“There’s going to be an attack,” Arthur informed him shortly. As the knights knocked on the doors of adjoining houses, other noises began springing up.

“Was there an alarm?”

Without answering, Arthur moved on. He did not have the time to spare to come up with an excuse to explain his knowledge, and the more quickly they prepared, the better. Merlin could have been struggling with the unknown fae, and Merlin against one was  _ hardly  _ a fight in their favor. 

“Arthur!” 

At the sound of Gwen’s voice, Arthur turned around.

Gwen was running towards him, lifting her skirts with one hand and clutching a cloak around herself with the other.

“Are you  _ cold?”  _ was the first thing out of Arthur’s mouth whenever she reached him. Mentally, he slapped himself. Of all the  _ stupid,  _ Merlin-like things to say-

“No. What’s going on?”

“There’s going to be an attack. I think.” 

Confusion filled her expression. “You  _ think?”  _

Whenever they reconvened, Arthur was going to have a serious chat with Merlin about how they could better hide his heritage.

“Yes. I think. Someone heard something.” Inwardly, Arthur winced at the poor excuse, but Gwen didn’t bother questioning it. 

“Where did Merlin go? I haven’t seen him all evening after I spoke with him, and I thought he was with you, sire.”

“You may call me Arthur.” Metnally, Arthur slapped himself on the forehead. Really, of everything happening, that was what he was most concerned about?

Gwen blushed.

“I don’t know where Merlin went.” 

It was the truth. For all he knew, Merlin could be on the back of the horse, riding for Camelot, at that moment.

“Maybe Elyan’s seen him.” Gwen moved past him.

“Wait.” Arthur caught her by the arm. “You can’t be out. It’s too dangerous for you. Find somewhere safe.”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself, Arthur.”

No, she wasn’t. Or maybe she was, but Arthur didn’t want her to be. He wanted to make sure that Gwen was as far from whatever mess Merlin had found as possible.

“Please, Gwen,” he said instead of making a fool of himself. “I know you can take care of yourself, but please find shelter somewhere.”

Gwen pursed her lips like she was going to argue with him.

“Hello!”

Arthur stumbled forward and swore.

Gwen clutched her heart. “Oh, Merlin, you scared us!”

Arthur wasn’t  _ scared.  _

“Sorry about that.” Merlin scratched the back of his neck. “So, Arthur-”

“What in the blue blazes are you doing?” Arthur hissed.

It was his understanding (and with Merlin, that was sometimes  _ very  _ shallow) that Merlin was off doing...whatever it was that fae did with whoever the other fae was. Not frolicking about in the dark while Arthur woke everyone up.

“If you had me raise the whole blasted town-”

“Language, Arthur. There’s a lady present.”

Gwen laughed and then cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“It was nice seeing you, Gwen.” Abandoning her, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulder and dragged him into the nearest alleyway. As soon as they were in its shadows, he growled, “What in fae is going on?”

“‘It was nice seeing you, Gwen’?” Merlin parroted. “Come on, Arthur, you can do better than that.”

The more Merlin spoke, the more Arthur felt like knocking him out, dealing with whatever threat was facing the village, and picking him up on their return to Camelot.

“Focus, Merlin,” he snapped.

“All right. So.” Merlin rubbed his hands together. “I feel magic growing in the air.”

“And?” Arthur looked around, but the air didn’t appear any different.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You can’t  _ see  _ it. Moving on - I want everyone to be prepared.”

Arthur waited, but Merlin didn’t finish his instructions. “And?” he prompted.

Confused, Merlin frowned. “Is everyone already prepared?”

One blow. One blow, and all of his problems would be-

If being prince had taught Arthur  _ anything,  _ it was that he would be forced to deal with difficult people. “ _ They are  _ preparing  _ as we speak,  _ Mer _ lin.  _ I am inquiring as to your  _ plan of action, you imbecile.”  _

“I’m going to confront the other fae,” Merlin said, “and then, whenever he-”

This.

This was it.

This was the perfect example of why Arthur was never going to trust Merlin with anything  _ ever  _ again.

“Right.” Arthur turned. “Find Leon and Percival and the others.”

“What? What for? You didn’t even let me  _ finish  _ telling you about it!”

“I don’t need to.”

As he took a step to find the knights. Arthur’s mind raced as he scrambled to come up with a plan. Perhaps if they all stood their ground together-

“Stop it,” Merlin said. “I can hear you thinking, and whatever you’re coming up with isn’t going to work.”

Halting, Arthur wheezed. “You can hear me  _ thinking?”  _

Fie, had Merlin  _ actually  _ heard everything he’d ever thought about Gwen? About Merlin’s “personality”? About-

“No. Just stop.” Merlin’s voice was tired, frustrated. Laced with a slight trace with anger as though it were pushing to escape but Merlin was powerful enough to quell it.

“Why?” Arthur demanded, turning to him. “You’ve acted sick for days, worried like a squirrel in a bear’s den, you  _ disappeared  _ without telling anyone where you were going or when you would be back, and now you’re putting the lives of not only this entire village but also  _ my men  _ on the line because you are too idiodic to come up with a decent plan and too prideful to admit it.”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth twitched as though he found some aspect of Arthur’s short speech amusing. A flash of rage at the fae blinded Arthur for a second.

Merlin said nothing.

In the darkness of the street, Arthur clenched his fists and breathed in and out. If he were going to face a fae, he needed to be in control.

“Are you calm?” Merlin asked.

“ _ Yes.”  _

Wisely, Merlin did not point out that Arthur was clenching his jaw. “The  _ reason  _ I am not telling you any ‘plan’ is because it boils down to this. I am going to go fight whoever is waiting, and you are going to sit and wait in case that does work. 

“But-” Arthur began.

“No,” Merlin stopped him. “This is magic. You cannot work here. You are as foreign to Ealdor as the stars in the middle of the sunlit sky. You are a dove in a fir tree.”

A dove? What in fae?

“Magic isn’t-”

“Trust me, Arthur. You are going to have to. I would prefer to not knock you out because there’s only so much head trauma you can take and your resources are limited enough  _ already.  _ Please, Arthur.”

For the love of fae, Arthur could not understand Merlin sometimes.

Merlin’s facial expression turned snarky. “If not for me, do it for Gwen. You can’t protect her  _ unconscious.”  _

“Excuse me?”  Arthur demanded.

Although Arthur didn’t know how, Merlin deemed Arthur’s words as acceptance. “Good. I’ll deal with the magic user,” he said. “Just be ready with everyone. You won’t have to fight.”

Before Arthur could put up any more protest, Merlin disappeared into the shadows of the street.

…

Merlin was wrong.

Even though it was hardly the time to be smug, Arthur took pleasure in the fact.

Merlin was  _ wrong,  _ he thought gleefully as he blocked the swordstroke of another barbarian just in time to turn around and deliver a powerful punch to the jaw of another.

When Merlin returned, Arthur was going to tell him about each and every action he took.

“Duck, sire!”

Instantly, Arthur squatted down, and an arrow whizzed over his head.

Or Arthur assumed it was an arrow. He was too busy rising to meet his next opponent to care to confirm his guess.

Kenan and his bandits were stupid.

More slow-witted than Merlin, in fact. As he faced off each new opponent, Arthur was incredulous that the villages of Essetir were struggling against such  _ talentless  _ buffoons.

In the midst of the skirmish, Gwaine sidled up to Arthur, twirling his sword around in fancy showboating arcs. “Did you say Merlin was taking care of it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“When? Haven’t seen any trace of anything.”

That was the one snag in the perfect fabric of it all. Despite Merlin’s investigation of the village and new disappearance, no magic had erupted into the air, and no one had caught a whiff of the wind of the fae.

“I know.” Arthur couldn’t give Gwaine anything else, so the knight drifted away to deal with one of the stragglers of Kanan’s men. 

It was the sort of quick operation that both Uther and Arthur liked. Arthur would root out the leader and haul him back to Camelot’s prison, and the people of Essetir could return to sleeping soundly at night.

It would have been a nicely wrapped present for everyone involved. 

Except for the random factor of fae.

Arthur’s once-banished headache was returning full force.

Brennan was approaching him, and in expectation of whatever thanks or information he would receive, Arthur straightened his posture and slid his sword back into his sheath. “What-”

On the edges of the night-blacked horizon, fire exploded.

As Brennan ducked, relief flooded Arthur. Merlin.

It must have been created by magic, for even from a distance, he could feel the heat of its flames and see them reflecting off Brennan’s wrinkled skin.

Wait a second.

If the fire was caused by magic, the other fae, not Merlin, could have been responsible for it. And Merlin could have been in the middle of it. 

At that very moment, Merlin could be burning to a crisp. 

Ignoring the puzzled exclamations around him, Arthur took off.

…

The world was a swirling mass of smoke and smog around Merlin, and he coughed through the quagmire. In Camelot, he thought the amount of particles in the air was tolerable, and the forest contained the cleanest air he had ever breathed.

This, however, was ridiculous.

Sputtering, he tried to expel the smoke from his lungs, but it was worse than the clouds mushrooms sent up in the spring.

Racing through lesser-used vocabulary in his mind, Merlin found the perfect words (he loved perfect words - all fae did - round and smooth) and choked them out.

The smoke abated but did not disappear completely.

Hmm. Perhaps the words were not as perfect as he had thought them. After being asleep for so long, Merlin found that the rest of the world had shifted slightly.

It was annoying.

_ Almost  _ as annoying as Arthur, but the prince still took the pot.

He was getting distracted by his own thoughts and the smoke. Focusing on magic, he tugged at it.

In a flash, the smoke disappeared.

That left the fire that was licking high towards the sky and fanning itself to an inferno.

“ _ I see you.”  _

Merlin stiffened and scanned the flames, looking for a trace of another fae. Normally, he would have been able to sense the presence of another fae, but the magic in the fire was truly deflecting.

“I would be most delighted if you extended me the same courtesy,” Merlin replied sarcastically, turning around.

Oh, the  _ grass  _ was getting burnt. All of the poor grasshoppers and fireflies and-

“ _ You aren’t looking.”  _

Really, Merlin thought that other fae were ridiculous. Invisibility. Eerie, disconnected voices. No wonder Uther thought magic users were slightly deranged sometimes. 

Merlin shook his head. “Listen, I’m getting a little  _ tired  _ of all of you fae showing up and having a little talk with me before you go away.” 

“ _ You speak as though you are not one of us even though the same blood runs through your veins...Merlin.”  _

Merlin let himself smile a little at this. It had been so long since another fae had called him by his name that it was a little weird, but he wasn’t going to let himself be thrown off the trial by that. “Listen, are you here for Arthur? Because you can’t have him.”

Might as well make everything clear before they got down to brass tacks.

A tuft of smoke billowed up, and a dark figure emerged from the grey haze.

Although Merlin’s first instinct was to send a blast of magic towards the unknown fae, he let his hands hang limply by his side. 

“Hullo,” he said instead.

The other fae smiled thinly, out of politeness. It was as fake was Lady Mosley’s wig back in the court of Camelot. “I am not here for gold or rings or goblets,” she stated. “They are of little to use for me as adornments.”

Merlin’s eyebrows hiked up. This was a surprise. “What are you looking for, then?” he asked. “Swords and shields?”

The fae took another step towards him, causing his fingers to twitch and his magic to rear up. With every step, her long, slightly curled blonde hair bounced lightly around her face, but there was nothing girlish about her sharp face or her smooth tresses. 

He squashed his magic down.

When she smiled, her blood-red lips curled evilly. “Oh, I’m looking for what I’ve already found.”

Merlin took one step back. “Excuse me?” Merlin was used to speaking in metaphors, but he wasn’t quite sure what the other fae was implying and wanted to ensure he fully comprehended her intentions before he did something that he would regret.

Disappointed, she pouted. “Really?”

Merlin took another step back and mentally scrambled for the words to rectify the situation before it careened out of control. “I do apologize for my lack of insight, but everything is hazy with smoke at the moment.”

She accepted it. “I’m looking for what I’ve already found,” she repeated.

“Are you satisfied?” Merlin asked.

He knew the answer would be no but put it forth to push her in the direction of explaining herself. He wanted to be especially careful around her.

“No.” The fae glided forward, causing Merlin to backpedal even more until he felt the flames raging hot at his back. Pausing, her predatorial smile deepened. “Do you know where we are?”

At the abrupt line of questioning, Merlin blinked. “Of course.” It was unnatural for fae to lose themselves when the world was so distinct, so sharp, so different at every corner and turn.

“Tell me,” she demanded, her magic flaring around her.

“Essetir. Ealdor?”

“And what is special about Ealdor in Essetir, Merlin?” 

He did not like the way she said his name. He would have preferred the trees calling him Emrys over her tone. Well, if she was going to be blunt, it would only be polite for him to return the favor. “That’s none of your business.”

The fae gasped.

Merlin smirked. Served her right. If she was going to be as condescending as Arthur, he was going to be as rude as he liked.

“You  _ tiny-”  _ she began before catching herself. 

Merlin tugged at the fire a little with his magic, and it lessened slightly. The other fae was so caught up in his slight against her that she failed to notice for the moment. 

“ _ You,”  _ she spat, “you,  _ Merlin,  _ are from the ground. This earth. These spots.”

Although Merlin wanted to argue that  _ these spots  _ were hardly the appropriate words, he felt a flash of anger that this nameless fae  _ knew  _ why Ealdor meant something to him.

How?

He remembered a few things. The land had pulled him to an abandoned cottage on an empty farm overgrown with wild shrubs and thorns. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the loving touch of a mother’s land, the laughter in her eyes, and her practicality.

It stung, seeing so much but still being able to reconstruct so little about his own mother. 

“And what’s that to you?” He raised his head high and stared her down. As best as he could. 

From her reaction, it did not intimidate her. She was standing two feet away from him now, and he could see the slight flare of her nostrils with every intake of breath.

There were too many unknown factors. Why she was there, how much she knew about him, why she felt the need to burn the land to a crisp to talk to him, whether or not she would turn after Arthur.

In a flash, she lashed out. 

Merlin threw up a flash of magic to block her attack, but it wasn’t also magic.

Her cold fingers latched around his arm.

Instinctively, he jerked back, but he hadn’t been expecting the move. Before he could blink or push her back, she snapped her second arm across in front of her body.

Merlin’s palm burned and stung.

Shocked, he stared at it as a thin trail of red blood seeped out of the slash on his palm.

The knife now resting at the fae’s side (carefully held suspended because of its metal) glistened with his blood. 

Instinctively, he squeezed his hand shut to stop the flow, but it caused a flat glob of his blood to trickle along his skin and fall onto the black and ashen ground.

The stench of it hit his nose, and he stumbled backwards, fighting the urge to vomit.

He  _ hated  _ blood.

Fascinated, the fae watched his reaction. 

“What-” He gagged, straightening up. “What was that for?”

The small drop of blood was quickly overwhelming the scent of smoke.

This was why he detested hunting.

“Look, please.”

Merlin felt like...doing something very non-half-pacifist to her, but his curiosity won. He looked at the ground.

His blood shimmered slightly - any human would have missed the slight change in color, but Merlin loved colors and everything about them - before it seeped into the cracks of the dried-out ground.

Merlin turned his gaze back on her.

Pleased with herself, the fae smiled as more of his blood dropped from his hand and the knife to the ground. “I knew it.”

“Please enlighten me,” Merlin snapped.

“You are Merlin.”

Despite the wound in his hand and his confusion, Merlin laughed. “Really? I had no idea! I’m  _ so  _ glad we’ve cleared that up. I’ll let Arthur know that he can drop the  _ idiot  _ and  _ buffoon  _ nonsense now that we’ve discovered my name.”

As she stooped down, the fae snarled. “Is the Court a game to you?” she asked as she scooped up a bit of earth soaked through with Merlin’s blood.

His nose twitched. He didn’t want her touching her blood. It meant a bit more to fae than it did to humans, and  _ she  _ thought  _ he  _ was the rude one.

Before him, she made a fist and uttered a few words, causing the dirt to harden into a single precious stone streaked with gold and the barest touch of silver.

“This is proof,” she said. “This is the scratch in the door, the call of the bird, and the track of the doe.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “The king has his eye on the sparrow, and when he hears it, he is... _ most interested.” _

“Why?” Merlin asked.

It was the fae’s turn to laugh. “Oh,  _ Merlin,”  _ was all she cackled before the flames burst up higher than before.

When Merlin cleared the smoke again, she was gone.

She hadn’t even given him her name.

_ Rude.  _

…

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, instantly choking on smoke as it took the opportunity to seep into his mouth.

The countryside was on fire, but it was the remnants of a blaze instead of the beginnings. That, however, did not make it any easier to locate the idiot in question.

“ _ Merlin!”  _ he tried again, pulling up the front of his shirt to block his nose and mouth. With his other, he batted at the rest of the smoke swirling around his head.

For not the first (or the last) time, he cursed fae and their blasted magic.

Couldn’t they use it for more constructive purposes besides burning down the entire area?

“ _ Arthur _ !”

Through the haze, he spotted movement - a waving arm.

A second later, the majority of the smoke disappeared, and Merlin (standing, as though he were lost) became visible.

Arthur picked his way through the charred remains of stumps and thistles to reach him. “What in fae-”

“Do you mind if I borrow the hem of your shirt?” Merlin interrupted, crossing one arm and holding the other as far away from his body as possible.

“Of course I do,” Arthur snapped. “What happened? Where is the other fae? Why aren’t you dead?”

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Merlin drawled before he sniffed in the direction of his hand and puked on Arthur’s boots.

“Hey!” Too late, Arthur jumped back. The white and green liquid spattered on his boots, making Arthur consider throwing up, too.

“Sorry.” Merlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What happened?”

If Merlin refused to give him a straight answer this time, Arthur was going to lose it.

“I met the fae. She’s gone now. I don’t think she’ll be back.” Merlin frowned. “I never did speak with her about what she did to your father.”

“My  _ father?”  _

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed. “Your father. Congratulations, we walked into a plot. Your hem?”

“No.” If he ripped it, it would take Merlin two weeks to fix the hem, and it was one of his most comfortable shirts for patrolling. “My father?”

“Enchanted. Definitely.” Merlin’s eyes were focused off in the distance as though he were thinking.

It was disturbing. 

“Merlin, what in fae is going on?”

Merlin sighed. “I have no idea and every idea, Arthur. I feel like I’ve just walked into a mess.”

“That’s nothing new,” Arthur quipped grimly, “but you have an unusual knack for getting out of them.” At least, he hoped Merlin would be able to get out of whatever this one was.

Fae and their blasted magic.

Finally realizing that Arthur wasn’t going to sacrifice his shirt, Merlin dropped his hand, scowling. “Fine. I’ll tell you on the way back to the village and after I fix some of this  _ burntness _ .”

“Are you sure the fae left?” It would be in their  _ best interest  _ to not be ambushed before they returned to Camelot. 

“Positive. She needed to be somewhere else.”

Arthur couldn’t imagine where and what that was, but the answer would have to work for the moment. “Good. I’m all ears, then.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Merlin shot him a scathing look. 


	14. When, Arthur?

For the gravity of the situation at hand, Merlin was enjoying himself  _ entirely  _ too much.

It was Gwen’s fault, too, although Arthur was hardly going to blame her for Merlin’s childlike nature. If not for her presence, he, Merlin, and the knights would have been able to hold a serious conversation about how they were going to deal with whatever enchantment Uther was under out in the open.

Instead, Merlin was taking  _ great  _ delight in calling a “secret meeting.” 

Although, if he kept reminding everyone about the time in the loudest stage whisper possible in the most obvious “I’m up to something!” fashion, it wasn’t going to  _ be _ a  _ secret _ meeting. Arthur might as well have invited the nearest farmer and his wife for their input. 

_ “Arthur,”  _ Merlin hissed, looking left and right.

As though they weren’t riding across a field from which they could see anyone and anything approaching.

“What,  _ Mer _ lin?” Arthur gritted through his teeth. 

It was either this or depressed Merlin, he reminded himself, and out of the two, this was better.

At least,  _ for now.  _

“Don’t forget-”

“I  _ won’t  _ because you  _ keep reminding me,  _ and-”

“ _ Merlin!”  _ Gwen called  _ right  _ before Arthur chewed him out further. “Come look at this!”

Merlin was all too happy to wheel his horse around and go check out whatever Gwen was pointing to.

Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief. Maybe she would be able to keep Merlin occupied until that evening. Their surroundings  _ were  _ filled with plenty of flowers and cute animals.

Shielding his eyes, he checked the position of the sun. Camelot was still a long time off. 

…

“Should we do a roll call?” Gwaine asked.

Arthur opened his mouth to inform Gwaine of what a stupid idea that was before realizing that it was pitch-black outside and that he could barely see his own hand a foot in front of his face. “Fine. Lancelot?”

“Here.”

“Elyan?”

“Here.”

“Percival.”

A soft cracking as the knight shifted weight. “Here.”

“Leon.”

“Here.”

“...Merlin?”

“Here!”

“Right.” Arthur rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“Hey!” Gwaine interrupted. “What about me?”

“I already know you’re there, Gwaine,” Arthur pointed out, rolling his eyes even though the motion would be missed in the dark. “I can smell you from here.”

One of the knights snickered.

“Right.” Arthur cleared his throat. He didn’t know why, but it was almost physically painful for him to turn the meeting over to Merlin. “Merlin. Go.”

“Right, so.”

The dark shape that Arthur believed to be Merlin stood up (as if that made a difference). “Uther-”

“ _ King  _ Uther to you,” Arthur corrected.

_ “King  _ Uther,” Merlin mimicked, somehow making the title sound even more disrespectful than the name, “is enchanted. I think I know who did it, but I’m not entirely sure how or why. Maybe there was some sort of seal on the missive he got. Did you have a chance to read it, Arthur?”

“No. My father simply told me of its contents.”

“Probably the seal, then,” Merlin concluded. “Those are really easy to enchant. They kind of provide a base for the spell.”

No one said anything.

Gwaine (or Arthur assumed it was Gwaine) raised a hand to scratch the top of his head, releasing a new cloud of noxious fumes that made Lancelot cough.

“When we get back to the castle,” Merlin went on, “the rest of you should go ahead and act like nothing has happened. I’ll sneak off.”

“What if Uther isn’t happy to see us?” Percival asked. “The fae could have enchanted him to have us killed or something.”

It  _ was  _ a possibility. 

“Don’t worry,” Merlin assured him. “I’ll be able to tell before you get  _ too  _ seriously maimed.”

“What?” Arthur wasn’t quite sure he heard that right. “Merlin, did you say  _ maimed?”  _

“And if nothing bad happens to you, then, well, I’ll still try to figure out the problem.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “I’m seeing a serious problem with this, Merlin.”

“What’s that?” Gwaine asked. “Sounds good to me.”

“Everything sounds good to you, Gwaine,” Lancelot piped up.

“If it sounds good to you, then there must be something wrong with it,” Arthur said. “What are  _ we  _ supposed to do,  _ Mer _ lin?”

“Sit around and look pretty.”

Leon (Arthur thought it was Leon) snorted.

Arthur was not amused. “Excuse me?” Because the lack of light obscured Merlin’s face, it was impossible to discern whether or not he was joking from his expression.

Before Merlin could say anything, one of the knights cleared his throat. “I think what Merlin means,” Lancelot spoke, “is that we should keep an eye out for Merlin where he can’t be and also make sure that whatever enchantment King Uther is under doesn’t affect the citizens of Camelot.”

Merlin snapped his fingers, making Arthur jump. “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

A sudden thought struck Arthur. “As soon as we return, someone needs to keep Gwen out of this business. It could get messy.”

“I’ve got a thought.” Percival had been so quiet that Arthur had almost forgotten that he was there. “If you fae can enchant people in a negative sense, is it possible for you to...I don’t know...cast a spell of protection or something?”

Now that Percival had posed the question, Arthur wanted to know if it was possible as well and if so, why hadn’t Merlin done it to him sooner.

Even in the dark, Arthur could sense that Merlin was shaking his head  _ no  _ wildly.

“No,” Merlin said. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Leon asked.

“No, no, no,” Merlin repeated, almost tripping over the word. “You...you can’t mess with life like that. There are consequences, even for fae. You don’t touch life. At least, you’re not  _ supposed  _ to. I did once, and it didn’t end very well for a long while.”

It didn’t end very well for a long while? What did that even  _ mean? _

“What happened?” Percival asked.

Merlin laughed, but it sounded half-forced. “Something rather embarrassing and almost permanent involving trees. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“So the big baddies get to use it on people, but you don’t?” Gwaine guffawed. “What kind of a system is that?”

“I didn’t make it,” Merlin informed him, annoyed. “I’ll be sure to take it up with the management the next time I see them.”

“Come on, Merlin,” Gwaine pressed. “Tell us.”

“Tell you  _ what?”  _ Merlin’s irritation increased, and Arthur found himself smirking to himself in the dark.

“What happened?”

“Yeah, Merlin,” Leon piped up. “What happened?”

“I told you,” Merlin snapped, “something embarrassing.”

“Like what?” Percival asked.

“Like  _ something embarrassing.”  _ With a light thud, Merlin sat back down.

For all of the times he teased Arthur, Arthur wasn’t going to let Merlin get away with that kind of answer. “Come on,  _ Mer _ lin. Tell us. Unless you’re afraid of something.”

“I’m not  _ afraid.  _ There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Merlin sounded insulted.

Good.

“Then tell us,” Arthur ordered. “Just because you’ll be skulking around like a schoolboy trying to get out of lessons-”

“Speaking from experience?”

“-doesn’t mean I can’t still make you muck out the stables every single day.”

Chirping crickets peppered a moment of silence as Merlin considered the threat (Arthur was assuming that Merlin was thinking it over - the idiot could have taken the opportunity to nod off, and Arthur wouldn’t be able to tell in the dark).

“I fell asleep,” Merlin finally said. His tone was short, and he clipped the last word off as though he were already regretting it.

“What?” Arthur couldn’t stop the snicker that slipped out of his nose. “You fell  _ asleep?  _ Well,  _ that’s  _ nothing new. You fall asleep while doing  _ everything.”  _

Another snap of Merlin’s fingers, but this time, a yellow glowing orb appeared in the middle of the circle, illuminating their faces.

“Hey!” Gwaine cried out as they shielded their eyes.

“Arthur, I want you to look at me,” Merlin said.

“I can’t - you just blasted my eyes out, you ruddy fae,” Arthur snapped. Brightness was embedded in his retinas. If he was lucky, he would be able to make out shapes in half an hour. 

“Oh, don’t be such a  _ baby. _ It’s just a little orb.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur rubbed his eyes. Now that Merlin mentioned it, the light wasn’t  _ that  _ overpowering, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Look at me.”

Why in fae was Merlin acting so weird?

“I want you to see this glare on my face. This glare is for you, Arthur, because you are the largest  _ prat  _ that I have  _ ever  _ known.” 

Merlin scrunched up his face like a fat pig.

Arthur faked gasping. “I am  _ so  _ terrified.”

“Sire-” Lancelot began.

A twig cracked.

Instantly, the glowing orb disappeared, leaving Arthur blinking as his eyes tried to readjust to the lack of light.

“Elyan?” 

It was Gwen’s voice.

In the dark, the knights frantically shuffled until one of them rose. “Here, Gwen.”

“Elyan? What are you doing out here? Where is everyone?”

Blast it. They should have brought a non-magical light. 

“We’re - we’re -” Elyan faltered.

If the other knights were smart enough, they were sneaking off in the opposite direction of Gwen’s voice.

“Let me walk you back to the camp,” Elyan settled on, crossing in front of Arthur on the way to meet his sister.

“Is something wrong?” Gwen asked.

“No,” Elyan assured her. “Everything is fine.”

“Well, where are the other knights?”

“I’m sure you just missed them in the dark. They’re probably all sleeping.”

_ That  _ was Arthur’s cue to leave.

As he stood, his knees let out slight, almost inaudible  _ cracks  _ in protest at having been locked in a tough position for too long. His back was killing him.

Since he couldn't see the ground, he took a step forward and hoped that the leaves weren’t too dry.

“I’m  _ sure  _ I checked,” Gwen insisted. “I couldn’t even find  _ Merlin,  _ and you know how Arthur snores.”

Pausing for a moment, Arthur frowned. He didn’t  _ snore.  _ The idea was absurd.

He took another two steps forward. When he twisted around on his third, something slammed into his ankle.

Before he could regain his balance, he slammed into the ground.

“ _ Oof!”  _

In a flash, his breath was stolen from his body.

“ _ Arthur? _ ”

No, not Gwen. Anybody but Gwen. He didn’t want her to see him looking like an idiot. 

Before she reached him, he turned himself over. “I’m perfectly all right,” he wheezed. “I just...fell...over…”

Wait a second. Hadn’t Merlin been sitting in that spot before he removed the light?

He was going to kill his manservant.

After his father was unenchanted.

“Are you sure?” She bent forward slightly, as though she wanted to help him but wasn’t sure how, as Elyan awkwardly stood in the background.

Holding a fist up to his mouth, Arthur coughed. “Positive.” 

Merlin was nowhere to be seen. The coward.

“Well, let me help you back to the camp, then,” Gwen insisted.

Arthur pushed himself to his feet and brushed the leaves off the front of his shirt. “I can manage,” he told her stiffly. “I’ll follow you and Elyan.” The three awkwardly waited for someone to take lead before they  _ all  _ took lead and crashed into each other in the dark.

Blast Merlin, blast fae, and blast magic, he thought angrily as he strode forward ahead of Gwen and Elyan, fumbling in the dark to find his way back to camp. 

…

Arthur spent the night thinking his embarrassment in front of Gwen and turning over all of the different ways disenchanting his father could go wrong.

He did not sleep much.

…

It was a relief to see the spires of the Camelot’s castle again. Even though Arthur felt like he was walking into a trap, some of the tension eased out of him as he rolled his shoulders.

True to his plan, Merlin disappeared sometime after their group entered the citadel, and despite Arthur’s trepidation, the rest of their group did not encounter any resistance.

Odd. Arthur thought there would have been  _ some  _ unpleasant aspect to their greeting. Fae enchantments were nasty, and it wasn’t often that fae were able to entrap the king of Camelot.

Merlin must have informed George that he would be too busy to attend to Arthur because George was waiting with a piping hot bathtub and a fresh change of clothes. Even though he was forced to listen to fifteen jokes about candle wax (he would have to  _ thank  _ Merlin for that later), it  _ was  _ nice to get rid of his dirt- and leaf-coated shirt.

All cozy feelings evaporated like steam as soon as he received his summons to the council room.

As always, his father was waiting for him, but his expression and posture seemed...off. Instead of sitting stiffly in the middle of his seat, he was reclining and entertaining a goblet of wine in his left hand. A slight smile graced his lips.

Uther only smiled when fae blood was about to be spilled.

“Hello, Father.”

“Arthur. Sit. Have some wine.”

Now he knew something was wrong. Usually, Uther gave him a snide remark about the amount of wine he consumed at banquets and meetings. 

As a servant scurried from a corner to obey Uther’s order, Arthur warily watched his father. After taking a sip, he rested his elbows on the table and pushed the wine goblet off to the side (for the moment). “The...mission was a success,” he said. “We drove the bandits from Essetir. King Cenred should pay you in full.”

“Oh, yes.” Uther waved a hand. “I almost forgot about that.”

Almost forgot? What king “almost forgot” about the whereabouts of the sole heir to the throne?

He chose his next words carefully. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions, Father.”

“By all means.” Uther flicked his fingers, signalling for more wine for himself.

“Did you notice anything  _ odd  _ about King Cenred’s missive?” 

“Odd? No.” Uther was barely paying attention to Arthur. Normally, his focus would have rivaled Merlin staring at cufflinks, but his gaze flitted about the room like a butterfly, dancing from one object to the next. Uther’s body was present, but his mind was elsewhere.

Arthur hoped it was figuratively instead of literally.

“Speaking of missives.” Uther cleared his throat. “I received one the other day from Lady Catrina. Do you remember her?”

Arthur could barely keep track of the servants, let alone a lady he saw once or twice a year at best, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his father. “Yes.”

“Lovely lady.” Uther brought his wine goblet to his lips, smiling. “I can’t keep the news to myself any longer, frankly. We’re going to be married.”

Arthur felt like his chair had been ripped from underneath him. Out of all things, this was  _ not  _ what he had been expecting. “What? You’re  _ engaged?”  _

“Yes.”

“To whom?” Arthur demanded.

Uther shot him a brief annoyed look. “To Lady Catrina, of course. Who else would it be?”

Arthur hadn’t thought it would be  _ anybody.  _ The topic of Ygraine had always been forbidden amongst the Pendragons, and even though Arthur had been newly born when she died, he had gathered over the years that she might have been the first and last person that Uther Pendragon ever loved.

“You’re getting married.”

“Yes.”

Arthur grabbed his goblet of wine and downed the entire cup before asking, “When?”

“A week.”

A week. A whole blasted week.

“More wine?” Uther offered.

But Arthur held up a hand. “No, thank you. I’m rather weary from traveling. I think I’m going to retire for the evening.”

Uther said not a word as Arthur left the room.

…

Gagging, Merlin stumbled into the room, but Arthur didn’t have time for his theatrics tonight. 

“Listen, Merlin,” he said, grabbing his manservant by the shoulders. “We have a serious problem on our hands.”

“I’ll say.” Merlin gagged again. “Have you ever considered why it’s a problem on our  _ hands  _ and not, say, our  _ shoulders  _ or-”

Arthur shook Merlin. “Pay attention. My father is engaged.”

“What?”

“That’s what I said!” Arthur released Merlin to throw his hands up in the air. “The idea is ridiculous! This is  _ proof  _ that he has been enchanted.”

Merlin moved past Arthur. “Well, if you want  _ further  _ proof, stick your nose in the air - higher than what you’ve already got it at now, of course.”

“Hilarious. We should hire you as court jester.” Experimentally, Arthur sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.” Anything besides the pile of laundry that Merlin had left undone before their little trip.

Merlin flopped backwards onto his bedspread. “I forget how  _ second-rate  _ the noses of humans are.”

“Excuse me? I’m the prince of Camelot. My nose isn’t  _ second-rate _ -”

“Then you should be able to smell it!”

“Merlin, for the love of fae, get your grubby hands  _ off  _ my pillow.”

Huffing, Merlin sat up. Arthur dragged him to his feet and shoved the fae across the room. 

Merlin shot him a cheeky grin before grabbing his wrist. “Come along, Arthur, I’m going to  _ enlighten  _ you.”

Before Arthur dug his heels in, Merlin dragged him from the room.

“ _ Merlin,  _ let go of me. Where are we going?”

Merlin made a sound in the back of his throat.

For being smaller than Arthur and incredibly  _ weak  _ when it came to lifting horses’ saddles, Merlin’s grip on his wrist was almost like iron. “Merlin,” he tried again as the fae yanked him around a corner, “this is serious. We have to-”

“Shh!” Merlin hissed.

After forcing Arthur down another corridor of the castle, Merlin stopped in front of a set of doors to a guest room. Holding up a finger to his lips, he pressed his ear against the door.

Arthur really hoped that no one came down the hallway at that moment because it was most humiliating for the prince of Camelot to be eavesdropping outside someone’s door. Even if he did own the castle.

“Okay, no one’s inside.” Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and the lock on the door released. “Let’s go.”

Arthur ducked into the room behind him.

Like magic, the odor slapped him, invading his nostrils and his mouth. It was more grotesque than the corpse of the aufric that Merlin had left on his bedroom floor.

Gagging, he stumbled out of the room.

Merlin staggered past him and vomited onto the carpet. The sight caused Arthur’s stomach to clench, and he choked up what was left of his wine from that evening.

“Close the door!” he rasped.

Still bent over, Merlin reached back and made a tugging motion with his fingers. As though attached to an invisible, the door slammed shut. 

“I feel sick,” Arthur groaned.

“How do you think I feel?” Merlin retorted into the carpet.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Arthur snapped, trying to find something else to focus on. “How is  _ no one else  _ not noticing that...that  _ stench?”  _

“Good question.” Merlin straightened. “The answer is magic.”

Arthur was beginning to comprehend why Uther would hate it. “That was the most  _ revolting  _ thing I have ever smelled.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, holding his neckerchief up to his nose. “I think I’m going to-”

Quickly, Arthur pushed Merlin down the hallway. “What are we going to do about it? Whose room is that?”

“Guess.”

“Lady Catrina?”

“Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a silver seashell.”

“What?”

“Figure of speech.”

“That was what I was going to tell you. My father is engaged to Lady Catrina.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, no, no, no, he can’t do that.”

Arthur threw up a hand. “That’s what I thought!”

“No, you don’t understand.” Merlin shook his head. “He can’t marry Lady Catrina just because you’re a clotpole with unresolved abandonment, grief,  _ and  _ father issues-”

“Excuse me?” He had nothing of the sort.

“-he can’t marry her because she’s a troll!”

This time, it was the rug that was ripped out from underneath Arthur. “A troll literally or figuratively?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Keep up, Arthur. Didn’t you smell it? That couldn’t be any common human lady with body odor issues.”

“Yes, of course, I  _ know that,  _ you blasted idiot _.”  _

“Just so we’re on the same page. Do you know what a troll is?”

Arthur began to pace in the small corridor in which they had halted. “Vaguely.” Trolls did not appear often in Camelot, so Arthur had not paid them much mind - until now.

“Okay, so they’re, like, these really ugly creatures that eat maggots and dirt and stuff like that and have an affinity for becoming rich. They’re outcasts of the Court, actually, and we don’t - well, when I was in the Court, we didn’t - like to talk about them very much because they’re rather... _ dirty.  _ And disgusting.”

“I gathered.”

“I’m guessing that the missive sent to your father by King Cenred - or sent in his name - was to lure you away from the castle so this troll calling herself Lady Catrina could get inside without too much trouble from Camelot’s most skilled warriors.”

“I bet,” Arthur seethed. “Where is she? Can you find her for me?”

Leaning up against the wall between two windows, Merlin crossed his arms. “No.”

“Camelot is in danger!”

“The only thing in danger  _ for the moment  _ \- please pay attention to those words, Arthur, because they’re important -  _ for the moment  _ is the nearest basket of fruit. You can’t go barging in and kill her or whatever you were planning to do because what do you think Uther’s going to do when you kill his fiance?” Merlin wrinkled his nose. “On second thought, what do you think I’m going to do when you make me clean up your mess? Oh, goodness, the  _ blood- _ ”

“I can’t just let my father marry a literal troll!” Although Merlin’s point was valid. Uther would be furious. Under an enchantment, he could react by throwing Arthur in the dungeons or even executing him for such a “crime.”

“Well…” Merlin cocked his head to the side.

Arthur leveled a hard glare at him. “We cannot.”

For some reason, Merlin pushed back the heavy, ornate drape to look out the window. “Fine. We have two options. No, three. We can either stage an accident or have ‘Lady Catrina’ go mysteriously missing  _ or _ force her to show her true hand to Uther.”

“Stage an accident?” It was a good thing they were standing in such an ill-used hallway. If any servants overheard their conversation, the castle grapevine would flourish for months. “Weren’t you just telling me we cannot kill her?”

Merlin flipped a hand. “I said  _ you.”  _

Arthur didn’t want to know. “I say...we force her to show her true hand to Uther.”

“Why is it ‘true hand,’ anyway? Why not-”

For crying out loud. “Merlin. Stop prattling.”

Merlin shot him a wounded look. “I was just wondering. We need to force her magical disguise to go away, and I think the best way for that to happen would be a nice family dinner.”

A nice family dinner?

“Forget it. I say we stage an accident.”

…

Morgana twirled a small strand of hair that had escaped from her messy bun around her finger, the look on her face matching the boredom bubbling up inside Arthur.

Although only she, Arthur, Uther, and “Lady Catrina” were sitting at the table, a great distance was between each of them that was only surpassed by the stretching silence.

Since Merlin and the knights had forced Arthur to call this “family dinner,” Arthur felt no need to help carry the social burden and start a conversation.

He felt Merlin’s disapproving glare on him, but he didn’t really care what Merlin thought. It wasn’t his family. 

It wasn’t as though there  _ was  _ anything for him to add when Lady Catrina and Uther seemed to be perfectly content to sit and  _ stare  _ at each other like two worn, pathetic birds.

Arthur didn’t like Lady Catrina one bit. She said all of the right, sappy, _wrong_ things to Uther, and they made him want to vomit because he knew what she was like underneath.

Merlin moved forward to refill Arthur’s wine goblet. While he was bent over the table, he hissed,  _ “Offer her some food or something. Don’t just sit there like a fat depressed toad.”  _

Morgana shot him her third nasty look of the evening.

Arthur sighed and straightened. “Lady Catrina.”

She broke off her lovey-dovey staring match with Uther. “Yes, Arthur?”

Arthur forced his lips into a smile. “You’ve barely touched your food,” he pointed out.

Morgana gave him a new look that asked  _ What are you doing? _

“Are you feeling ill, my love?” Uther asked, concern knitting his eyebrows. “Is the food not to your liking?”

“Oh.” Embarrassed, Lady Catrina smiled and looked down at her lap. “The food is lovely, I’m sure. I’m sorry.”

She did not, however, offer an explanation as to why she was avoiding it.

“Really, you should eat,” Arthur chided, using his most “I’m concerned about your state of health” tone.

“Yes,” Uther agreed immediately. “Have some rolls. Morgana, pass the rolls.”

Moodily, Morgana picked up the dish and handed it to Uther.

Gallantly, Uther plucked the fattest one that Arthur had his eye on and offered it to Lady Catrina.

She offered him a reluctant smile and hesitantly took the roll.

Whenever her smile deepened into something more genuine, Arthur’s heart sank.

“Thank you, my love,” she creened.

Merlin moved forward to refill Arthur’s wine even though he’d only imbibed about an inch. “ _ Stop looking like you swallowed a lemon,”  _ he whispered.

What in the blue blazes was a lemon? 

Probably some strange magical creature.

Arthur kept his gaze on Lady Catrina as she evaluated the roll. Was she going to eat it? Since Merlin was behind his bringing up the food, he assumed that it was vital for some reason.

As Lady Catrina smiled at the bit of bread, it morphed in her hand, turning from fluffy white to black, moldy, and filled with squirming pink worms. 

“Oh!” Morgana stood, pushing back her chair. “What  _ are  _ those?”

Uther didn’t react as he watched Lady Catrina take a bite out of the roll. “Delicious,” she said, rising to her feet. “Thank you for the lovely meal, but I’m feeling a little tired. Do you mind if I retire for the evening?”

“Of course,” Uther agreed. “Let me escort you to your room.”

And that was when Arthur knew that the situation was even more terribly and awfully wrong.

…

“Arthur!” Morgana hissed as Arthur strode down the corridor. “Stop!”

Arthur halted and turned around. “What is it, Morgana?” He needed to speak with Merlin and the knights. The sooner they sorted this catastrophe out, the better. If Uther wasn’t even  _ recognizing  _ magic and fae-ish creatures in front of his own nose...they needed to figure out another line of action.

“I want to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “I’m not  _ blind,  _ Arthur. I saw what went on in there just like you.”

“The knights and I will take care of it. We’ve dealt with magical threats before, and we’ll just have to do it again.” Did Morgana have to pick tonight to get on his case?

“Speaking of your knights,” Morgana began.

Arthur stiffened. He knew that some people didn’t... _ like  _ his knights because of their heritage, and if Morgana was going to give him any flak-

“Gwen - my maidservant?” Morgana raised her eyebrows.

Arthur frowned in annoyance. “I know who Gwen is. She was with us in Essetir.”

“Well, she asked me to speak with you about Merlin.”

“ _ Merlin?”  _

“Yes, she’s worried about him. She said he’s been acting strange ever since Ealdor and when you returned to Camelot and that it might be related to...well, whatever debacle we just witnessed.”

Arthur forced out a laugh. “ _ Merlin  _ is a simpleton. I’m sure whatever Gwen’s concerned about is just a result of...who he naturally is. I wouldn’t put  _ too  _ much thought into it.”

Technically, he wasn’t lying, but he felt a bead of sweat roll down his back. Morgana was always too clever for her own good.

Shrewdly, Morgana sized him up. “She said she saw something strange, and I’ve been noticing other things, too,” she started slowly. “Certain things he does when he thinks no one is looking. Especially around  _ metal.  _ Arthur, just when were you going to tell me that your manservant is  _ fae?”  _


	15. She knows

Arthur laughed.

Morgana did not.

He let his fake merriment die and replace it with coolness. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he told Morgana, “and if you’re trying to imply that I have been  _ disloyal  _ to the throne by consorting with fae - a crime punishable by death - I will make you regret your lies. Merlin has been accused of fae blood in the past, and it was proven to be a lie.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Arthur, really? Do you think I’m stupid? If I were going to turn you in, would I be asking you this here or dragging you and Merin in front of Uther?”

“Father isn’t in his right mind. He’s under an enchantment, and you know that,” Arthur snapped. “For all I know, you could be using this as an opportunity.”

“Oh?” She arched her eyebrows. “Is that what you think of me? Nothing more than an opportunist waiting for the right moment?”

“When fae are involved, anything is possible,” Arthur reasoned, not caring if she took insult as long as she left them alone. “Now, if you will excuse me, the knights and I have to-”

“Shut up, Arthur,” Morgana snapped. “My sole purpose to Uther might be to sit in court and look pretty, but I will  _ not  _ have you shove me in a corner. I know Merlin is fae. I’m sure a test with metal can confirm that quickly enough.”

“What’s your point?” Arthur demanded. “What is your purpose in accusing Merlin - of something  _ false,  _ by the way.” He needed something to distract her, but he was coming up short. 

“I’m not going to turn him in. I want to help. I  _ can  _ help.”

He wasn’t so sure. “It would be better if you-”

“Oh, codswallop,” Morgana interrupted him. “I can get into Lady Catrina’s rooms more often than you can.”

That was debatable.

“If you and the knights need to investigate...something, whatever you do, I can keep her occupied,” Morgana went on. “And most importantly, I can keep my mouth shut about Merlin and his magic.”

“He doesn’t have-”

“Deny it again, and I’ll slap you,” Morgana threatened.

If Morgana didn’t go back on her statement that she wasn’t going to turn Merlin in, Arthur was going to kill Merlin himself. If both Gwen and Morgana had figured out, what stupid things exactly was Merlin doing to spread the knowledge around?

“Speaking of Merlin, where is he?” Morgana tilted her head to look behind Arthur. “He usually follows you around like a puppy.”

“He does not,” Arthur snapped, bristling at the idea. “Merlin is away doing...reconnaissance.”

On second thought, perhaps allowing Merlin to sneak off on his own to do stealth work wasn’t the wisest course of action. “Blast it,” he muttered to himself. “We’re going to have to find him if we want to fix Uther.”

Morgana snorted. “Fixed. As if anyone could ever  _ truly  _ fix Uther Pendragon.”

Arthur glanced up and down the hallway to make sure that no one else was within earshot. “I have to go,” he told Morgana. “Don’t - please don’t do anything.”

Morgana was as unpredictable as lightning in a thunderstorm - when she held power, he never knew if, when, or where she would choose to strike.

“Of course,” Morgana agreed readily enough, however. “If you need me to do anything, I can.” A steely look glinted in her eye.

Arthur was not sure how to read her.

“If you  _ really  _ want to help us, you can delay the wedding,” he finally said. 

Although it was dated an entire week away, Arthur wasn’t sure what they were going to be able to accomplish in that amount of time. Fae enchantments were tricky. If they broke it the wrong way, Uther would go mad, and Camelot would be short a king. And they couldn’t exactly hit Lady Catrina over the head with a club and dispose of her quietly. 

“All right,” Morgana agreed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Although her resolve calmed his nerves somewhat, one thing was still bothering Arthur. “We both saw what happened in there. With the roll. But have you not smelled Lady Catrina?”

“She smells perfectly normal to me.” Morgana frowned. “Why? Was I supposed to smell something different?”

“No. Yes. I mean, no.” Arthur threw a hand up in the air. It was another thing to ask Merlin later “Ruddy fae. I have to go.”

He needed to question Merlin on a few things and get to the root of the solution as quickly as possible.

So, naturally, Merlin was nowhere to be found.

…

“How is he this sneaky?” Arthur raged to Lancelot. “I’ve seen him trip over a  _ leaf _ . I’ve seen him try to hide behind a  _ broomstick  _ to get out of his chores _.  _ How is he squirreling himself in this blasted castle without anyone seeing him?”

“Maybe he’s just somewhere we haven’t looked,” Lancelot suggested. “He could have wandered out into the citadel.”

_ Wandered.  _ As if they needed Merlin chasing after butterflies with the king was about to marry a troll.

“You should probably return to the castle, sire,” Lancelot advised. “The people are going to be worried if they discover their king is out looking for a mere servant.”

“At this point, Merlin is far from  _ mere.”  _

It was almost laughable. The fate of Camelot resting on the shoulders of a fae.

(Not that Arthur would admit that - he was sure that given enough time, he and the knights would be able to figure out how to fix Uther’s enchantment, but Merlin sped up the process.)

“I want him found,” Arthur growled, diverting his own attention from the bigger problem. “I want him found as soon as possible. Hire some of the children. They’re good at finding things.”

Although Merlin was the king of hiding because he was just as childish as they were...

“I’m sure Merlin will turn up,” Lancelot vowed again. “He would never stay away for this long on purpose.”

On purpose? Arthur’s mind flew back to the fae who had enchanted Uther. “You don’t think anything happened to Merlin, do you?”

No, that couldn’t be likely. No one would  _ go  _ after Merlin.

“No, of course not,” Lancelot answered, but the knitting of his brows and the slight clenching of his fist gave away that he was, in fact, worried about the fae.

“He has  _ magic,”  _ Arthur reminded Lancelot, lowering his voice. 

“Yes.” Nodding, Lancelot breathed out a sigh. “It’s just...Merlin’s sort of always around, and it is disconcerting for him to be missing.”

Arthur snorted. “Funny, how he managed to worm himself into the center of everything in such a short amount of time.”

It was almost like magic.

Although Arthur expected Merlin to bounce into his room the next day, banging against all wood and screeching like an owl being choked (what he called  _ singing),  _ he was welcomed with George and his newfound taste for  _ bronze  _ jokes.

“Hilarious,” Arthur gritted out after the third one, “Now get out of my room.” In fifty minutes, he was dressed and storming throughout the castle trying to find the knights.

“No sign of Merlin,” Percival told him, catching Arthur at the crossway in a hallway. “He is nowhere in the city. Even if he were hiding, he would have noticed our presence and concluded that we wanted to talk to him.”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like it. Too much magic and mystery were involved, and he couldn’t control any of it. “How about my father? Have Lady Catrina and he arranged anything more?”

“I heard Morgana asked Lady Catrina to her rooms for tea this afternoon, and Uther was most pleased with that.”

Arthur nodded. Uther would be. It was hard to garner Morgana’s approval. 

“If Merlin’s not anywhere in the city, try the forest. He might have decided to visit the plants or the bunnies or something.” It sounded ridiculous, but it was entirely something that Merlin would do.

“Right away, sire.” Percival hurried off.

Three days. Three days without Merlin and without any progress. That left only four days until the wedding even though Morgana had promised him that she would ensure the date was postponed if it came to that.

So, naturally, Arthur decided to go on a hunt.

“A hunt,” Leon repeated once Arthur gave the order for them to have the horses saddled and their weapons prepared. 

“Yes, a hunt.” Arthur crossed his arms. “It is perfectly natural for the prince to want to go on a hunt. Never mind missing people who could be out there. I have a right to do what I want to on my own land.”

Leon sent him a sideways glance. “Right. Of course, sire.” 

The horses were saddled and  _ quite  _ ample provisions readied within the hour.

Instead of ambling out of the gates, Arthur pushed his horse onwards until it was at a light canter. Even though the sun was barely at the noon hour, he felt as though most of the day had already been wasted.

Without exchanging words, they split up into groups once they reached the border of the forest. 

Gwaine and Arthur began combing the forest.

Although Arthur was initially hopeful, a strange atmosphere began to slink around and linger in the forest. Even though Arthur had been traveling through, in, and out of that very forest his entire life, nothing was familiar. It was as though some strange fae magic were bewitching the trees and forcing them to lead Gwaine and Arthur in circles to their own frustration. At several points, Arthur thought he heard the other knights calling out for Merlin, but the sound was replaced by the cawing of crows.

At the end of the day, they rode back to Camelot without Merlin.

…

Arthur lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. There was a painting of a unicorn directly above his head. Huh. That was odd. Maybe he had noticed it before when he was younger, but he didn’t ever recall there being a unicorn before.

Either he’d forgotten about it or Merlin was messing with his decor.

He let out a long sigh and let his head sink further into the pillows. They were too flat. Sitting up, Arthur turned around and shook them a couple of times until they doubled in size. When he was satisfied, he lay back down.

They were too floofy.

Arthur sat up again and reached back to pound his fist into them, creating a well for his head. When that proved as equally ineffective, Arthur took both pillows and threw them across the room. They collided with the wall, nearly knocking an urn off a piece of furniture.

Arthur hated that urn. There was a deer on it.

He wasn’t quite sure why the deer evoked such hate, but it always had.

_ Arthur.  _

Yes, he knew, it was ridiculous to hate the deer. The craftsman had probably spent a lot of valuable time painting the deer onto the urn. Well, he still hated it. 

_ Arthur Pendragon. _

Arthur sat up in bed again. That wasn’t his mind. That was someone’s voice.

_ Arthur Pendragon. _

“Hello?” Arthur whispered, peering around the room. 

It didn’t sound like Merlin’s voice. Merlin’s was youthful, and this one sounded like a grandfather’s. As though it were laden with advice it was willing to give out but not without a small price first.

_ Arthur Pendragon. _

Just his name, on repeat, no matter what Arthur did or said. It poked into his brain whenever he attempted to block out the sound with his battered pillows.

Finally, he grabbed his sword and shuffled out into the hallways, looking left and right for the culprit.

No one.

_ Arthur Pendragon.  _

The voice was coming from somewhere below him. Although it  _ could  _ have been another fae hoping to lure Arthur into a trap, somewhere in Arthur’s gut was the strange feeling that the voice didn’t belong to a fae and wasn’t under fae control. It was too gnarly, too old to belong to the beautiful.

It led him down, deeper than Arthur had ever been in the castle before. As the torches grew fewer and fewer, the atmosphere turned deeper and darker. Grabbing one of the few lights from the wall, Arthur shivered, but the voice beckoned him to hurry. It sounded exasperated that he was taking so long, but Arthur was unfamiliar with that part of the castle.

Around him, the tunnels closed in, but his torch light reflected off an open space in front of him.

When he reached it, the passageway opened up into a large cavern.

Arthur peered into the dark past the reaches of his light.

“Well, where are you?” he demanded, swinging the torch back and forth ineffectively. 

Out of the rock, a great shape unfurled, and the clattering of metal against stone rang through Arthur’s ears.

A great beast raised its wings and swooped towards Arthur.

Dropping the torch, he ducked, protecting his head with his hands - as though that would do anything against a  _ dragon.  _

For the love of fae, Merlin  _ hadn’t  _ been kidding when he said there was a dragon in Arthur’s basement.

If his mouth hadn’t been pressed up against slimy, fungi-covered rock, Arthur would have laughed hysterically. 

_ Arthur Pendragon,  _ the dragon rumbled.

He wasn’t dead.

The dragon wasn’t killing him -  _ yet.  _

As he pulled himself to his feet, Arthur swallowed to clear his dry throat. “What do you want?” His heart was thudding out of control, so he took several deep breaths to calm it.

Since it was still related to magic, the dragon would require something from Arthur. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have called him. If it so desired, it could eat him at any moment, and Arthur wasn’t sure if he was more terrified at the prospect of dying or the idea of what would happen to Camelot if the dragon decided to end him that minute.

_ A chance to speak with the prince of Camelot,  _ the dragon answered. 

Arthur felt a flash of irritation. It was a nice way of evading Arthur’s question. “Why did you summon me here? Do you know where Merlin is? Why are  _ you  _ here?”

Perhaps a second or two too late, Arthur realized that asking a chained dragon why he was there might not be the best question to improve relations since it seemed the dragon was looking at him in disapproval.

_ I am here because of the past errors of your father, Arthur.  _

Arthur had no idea what in fae to which errors the dragon was referring.

_ I know where Merlin is, young prince, and that is why I have summoned you here,  _ the dragon continued, unaware or ignoring Arthur’s confusion.

Arthur’s heart quickened. “You know where Merlin is? Where?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. How would  _ you  _ know where Merlin is when you’re imprisoned here?”

The dragon snorted.  _ Magic, Arthur Pendragon.  _

“Oh. Right.” Of course. “I knew that. Now, where is Merlin?”

In distaste, the dragon curled its lips, revealing a set of white teeth that attracted what little light there was.  _ In trouble. The young warlock sets his mind to things but does not know how to accomplish them. He is powerful, but he does not know what he is up against and will soon fail if he continues floundering as he is. _

“What?” Half of the words coming out of the dragon’s mouth were as enlightening as the cavern they were in. “Just tell me where Merlin is.”

The dragon shifted into a more relaxed position. 

Arthur waited for all of five seconds before exploding, “Well?”

The dragon frowned at him.  _ You would do well to learn patience, young Pendragon. The angers of your youth do not behoove you.  _

Arthur grimaced. Even though he dearly desired to put the chained dragon in its place, he knew it would never tell him where Merlin was if it was as vain as other magical creatures. Waiting for them to do anything was like having a rotten tooth pulled.

_ If you wish to find the young warlock to end your temporary troubles, you will have to grant me a boon.  _

So there it was. A boon. Arthur could do that. “All right,” he agreed. “How much do you want? Two hundred pounds? Three hundred pounds?” 

In his current state, Uther would probably not give a feather or a fig to what money Arthur spent as long as he claimed it was intended as a surprise for Lady Catrina. 

In the back of his throat, the dragon chuckled.  _ I care not for your silver and gold, Pendragon. I want my freedom. The young warlock already promised it to me in return for aiding him against another fae.  _

The hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck raised. “Merlin promised you  _ what?”  _

_ My freedom from this prison.  _

“No,” Arthur laughed. “You can’t be serious. Merlin doesn’t have the power to promise you anything. He isn’t ruler here.” And, if Uther had locked the dragon down there in the first place (a feat Arthur could not imagine accomplishing without the aid of magic - but he must have somehow), a reason surely backed the action.

_ Merlin is not under your control,  _ the dragon told him.  _ Whether you like it or not, Arthur Pendragon, Merlin is of the fae and the Court, and he wields more power and control than you could ever imagine. _

“Merlin?” Arthur snorted. “He may be fae, but I have been around him to know that if he is anything, it is  _ out  _ of control. He’s a klutz. He talks to turtles in his spare time.” Merlin was not as vicious as the fae that kept appearing, and although he had magic, he hardly seemed as powerful as them.

The dragon curled its lip at Arthur.  _ Nevertheless, Merlin promised to release me, and I shall not tell you where to find him until that oath is fulfilled. _

“Give me five minutes to think about it.”

_ Very well.  _ The dragon scrapped a talon against the rock.  _ Make haste. The hours are slowly draining, and soon it will be too late to turn the glass.  _

Whatever that meant. It sounded as though the dragon had been drinking from the same draught as the fae.

It was hazardous to release the dragon. Before the Purge, Arthur had heard tales how the dragons had razed villages with their flames, turning human and plant life alike to ashes. The entire kingdom could be shattered and disfigured.

If Arthur did nothing, however, and turned his back on the beast, Camelot would be destroyed from within by the troll and any connected fae.

“I want your word-” Arthur raised his voice in case the dragon decided to play hard-of-hearing like Merlin did sometimes. “I want your  _ word _ that you will not burn Camelot.”

The dragon laughed in the back of its throat.  _ And you would trust the word of a magical beast?  _

“I still want it. I have other matters to deal with, and releasing you would be against my purpose if you turned around and killed everyone.”

In the darkness, Arthur could have been mistaken, but he thought he saw the dragon smile slightly.

_ Very well, Arthur Pendragon, you have my word that I will not burn Camelot at this time, and may it be stronger than anything a Pendragon has ever given to me. _

Arthur nodded. “How do I release you?”

_ There is a key forged with magic, deep in Camelot’s vaults. It and only it will undo the lock to these chains.  _

“All right.” Arthur started planning how to get down to the vaults - or rather, up. The vaults certainly weren’t as deep as the dragon’s rocky prison. 

_ I would hurry, young prince. Time is not on your side.  _

Was anything, now?

“I’m going.” 

The dragon flapped its wings, pushing itself off the rock and disappearing. The only evidence of its past presence was the clanging of the chain against the cavern, leaving Arthru to wonder how, for the love of fae, was he going to find a blasted key in the middle of the mess that was the vaults.

…

Arthur attempted to sneak past Geoffrey. 

When he had been a child, it had been rather difficult to do since the librarian seemed to have eyes in the back of his head as well as a sixth sense of when little boys were in places they shouldn’t have been.

Not that Arthur had been especially eager to place his hands on the old, dusty tomes that cluttered up the library. 

Now, he made sure to look both left and right as well as listen as he made his way through the library to access the vault door.

It was an iron structure designed to keep out fae and therefore protected with magic endowed by fae who had not completely turned over to the opposite side of the purge. Embossed in gold were swirls and the Pendragon family crest. Lightly, Arthur ran his fingers over them before crouching down to inspect the keyhole.

“Ahem.”

Arthur jumped.

He twisted on his heels and came face-to-face with Geoffrey.

Or, rather, the knee of Geoffrey’s robe.

Arthur sprung to his feet. “Geoffrey,” he greeted him, a tickle threatening to break up his words. “What are you doing here?”

“Working,” Geoffrey informed him. “May I inquire, sire, as to your reason for accessing the vaults?”

“Accessing the vaults. Right.” Arthur slapped a hand against the door, making Geoffrey wince. “On my father’s permission. To retrieve a wedding gift for Lady Catrina.”

“And why is not His Majesty here himself?” Geoffrey asked.

Fie, did he have to be so inquisitive? He worked for Arthur, not the other way around.

“My father is busy,” Arthur informed him with a slight bit of pomp tainting his voice (he still held respect for the elder man), “and he will not be pleased to discover that I did not get the item for him.”

Geoffrey considered his words before leaving Arthur to head back into the library. He stopped at his desk, and after opening a drawer, removed a ring of keys. 

Later, Arthur would question why the keys to a precious vault were lying in the librarian’s desk drawer, but since he was crunching time, he kept his mouth shut as Geoffrey led the way back to the vault and slid the key into the lock.

“It has been quite some time since this was last opened,” Geoffrey remarked.

The inner mechanism of the lock protested against the key.

“What are all of those for?” Arthur pried, eyeing the key ring. It would be ridiculous for him to comb the entirety of the vault only to discover that the dragon’s key was among those on the loop.

Geoffrey was cryptic. “Other rooms, several chests.” 

“Oh? Any prisons?”

“None, sire.” Geoffrey removed the key from the lock and stepped aside.

Taking his cue, Arthur put his shoulder against the door.

Groaning and whining, the door opened inward.

Geoffrey handed him one of the available torches from the wall. “If you need any assistance, sire, you know where to find me.”

In the library. Because Arthur was still half-convinced from the memories of his childhood that Geoffrey lived, ate, and slept within those walls, never leaving his charges.

“Thank you.” Arthur stepped inside.

As soon as he released his force against it, the door shut on its own.

As Arthur passed farther into the room, he began to light the torches one by one until he was no longer required to hold up his own to keep from ramming into a wall or chest. 

The light licked eaglery across the walls and flickered across the items in the room. Arthur swept his gaze across all of them and let out a sigh.

It was crammed with artifacts and treasures. Although most of it was covered in light linen blankets or wooden boxes, he caught the faint outline of a suit of armor. He knew some of the containers were filled with precious jewels or metals, and it was to these he gravitated. If he were hiding a key that could unlock a dragon, he would store it among the jewelry.

The problem was the amount.

Since Ygraine’s death, Uther must have stored many of her belongings in the vault because Arthur kept finding pieces he either remembered older women of the court mentioning or seeing on the portraits of ancestors. Arthur ran his hands over each piece, wondering which of them had ever gone around his mother’s neck or had been pinned to her dress. He imagined many of her gowns had been tucked away in many of the trunks scattered about. 

Whenever he did not find any key in the first couple of boxes, Arthur looked around some more and sniffed. 

It could take hours to go through everything, he realized. There were so many small spaces and crevices between items.

For the love of Camelot, he thought gloomily, picking up the next box. 

His methodical search quickly turned sloppy. Although he was tempted to leave things for Geoffrey to clean up, he knew his father would be angry should he discover that Arthur had gone through everything. Taking the precious seconds to put each piece back killed Arthur.

He scowled. If it weren’t for fae, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place.

“Blast you, Merlin,” he growled as he snatched up the next box and turned it over to dump its contents into his palm.

A silver brooch felt into his hand, and the padding underneath it dropped out.

With a clatter, the fabric hit the floor.

Arthur crouched down and felt around for the item that had fallen out.

The key.

“Finally,” he muttered, hurrying to deposit the brooch back in the box and shove it back among the discard pile. Hopefully, Uther’s memory wouldn’t be too sharp the next time he required something for the vaults, and he wouldn’t notice the shift of objects.

Arthur spared no time for pleasantries. He tore out of the vault.

On his way past, he threw, “Thank you, Geoffrey!” over his shoulder. 

Geoffrey muttered something that was lost as Arthur rounded the corner.

…

When Arthur returned, the dragon was waiting impatiently. Too slowly for Arthur’s liking, he extended his chained claw to Arthur.

Briefly, Arthur noted the old but bright scales and the scars littered across them, but he focused on jamming the iron key into the stubborn ock. As close as he was to the dragon now, he could almost  _ feel  _ the faint thrum of magic and the acrid scent of burning skin as well as the beating of the beast’s heart.

Grunting, Arthur turned the key to the left.

After putting up a fight, the lock gave way.

With a click, the manacle broke loose from the dragon’s leg.

It was free. 


	16. At This Time

As soon as the chain fell from around its ankle, the dragon lunged towards Arthur.

Although he attempted to dive out of the way, it snatched him up with its talons, and the ground was swept out from underneath him. He was hurtling through the air, straight towards the stone side of the cavern.

Bracing for a painful and gruesome impact, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut.

Nothing happened.

The cracking sound of the dragon flapping its wings continued as the air rushed by Arthur’s ears.

In his head, he counted out ten seconds, and when he didn’t die, he opened his eyes.

They were outside the castle, blazing through the late night sky.

Arthur gasped. “What in the blue blazes?”

Although he hadn’t thought the dragon could hear him, it let out a rumbling laugh.  _ Are you not familiar with magic, Pendragon?  _

“I am!” he protested as he squinted down at the land. He could barely hear his own voice. The air was slicing into his eyes, causing them to water, but he could see the countryside below them. At a speed far faster than any horse, they were hurtling towards the forest. “But that doesn’t explain-”

_ Curtains separate the land of magic and fae from the land of the humans,  _ the dragon explained.

Curtains? Like what covered up a window?

Arthur frowned. He would never understand all of the semantics of magic. Perhaps it was another vague metaphor.

The dragon was now descending towards the forest at a breakneck pace. At the last possible second, it extended its wings, stopping them from colliding with the tops of the trees.

The dragon almost seemed to be amused by terrifying Arthur. His heart was thudding out of his chest, and he was convinced that the dragon could hear it.

“Where’s Merlin?” he yelled. “I didn’t release you to scare me half to death!”

_ In the forest.  _

In the forest? Arthur and the knights had spent an entire  _ day  _ scouring the forest, and there had been no sign of the fae then. “Are you sure?” Even though the dragon couldn’t see him, Arthur narrowed his eyes. Had he left a loophole in their agreement and the dragon was going to claim that he didn’t owe Arthur anything?

_ You doubt me, but you do not know the forest. It protects its master. _

“Are you saying that the forest hid Merlin from me?”

The idea sounded preposterous. They were  _ trees,  _ not living beings. They were dead. Even if the forest was filled with other fae, it didn’t make sense. Merlin was crazy when he referred to plants as though they were long-lost cousins or something of the sort.

And why would the forest suddenly deem Arthur a threat?

As it flew, the dragon looked back and forth as though it could peer through the deep foliage of the forest.

Arthur’s arms were growing tired. If the dragon hadn’t been holding onto him, he would have lost his grip and fallen to his death.

He wondered if the dragon was even in the slightest bit tempted to drop him.

_ The young warlock is below,  _ the dragon announced.

“Below?” Arthur demanded. “How do you expect me to get to him from here?”

They were hovering above a thick swab of trees. If the dragon dropped Arthur, he would most certainly die, but there wasn’t a clear space for the dragon to land. He doubted even the strongest and grittiest of the trees would be able to support the weight of the beast. 

Instead of answering Arthur, the dragon ended its hovering and swept forwards, diving downwards.

In a holting movement, it deposited Arthur on the ground.

At the sudden change of support, Arthur stumbled forward, losing his balance. His shoulders ached, and he could barely feel his arms. 

“Where do I find Merlin?” He raised his voice to capture the dragon’s attention.

_ Merlin is in the forest.  _

Arthur threw up his hands. As if  _ that  _ was going to help him.  _ In the forest.  _ He might as well have said that Merlin was an ant crawling in the grass and that Arthur should crawl around on his hands and knees, sticking his head into every anthill, to find him.

Arthur didn’t need to release a magical beast to know Merlin was in the forest. He could have figured that out himself.

“We had a deal,” he reminded the dragon, rubbing some of the feeling back into his arms. “You show me where Merlin is, or - or I’ll-”

He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do when the dragon was perfectly capable of frying him to a crisp without further ado.

_ Merlin is behind you. Next to the largest tree. It is not that hard to find. And I believe that fulfills our agreement, Arthur Pendragon. _

Above Arthur’s continued protests, the dragon rose into the air, and with several influxes of its powerful wings, it disappeared into the sky.

Since it was too far away to hear the curses he hurdled at it, Arthur wasted no more time in delving into the forest. In this section, the leaves were thick and the air musty. A strange white fungus sprouted up from the bases of the trees, and they looked as though they were wilting.

Arthur cupped his hands around his mouth. “ _ Merlin!”  _

Although the night air had been clear, allowing the moon and the stars to illuminate the tops of the trees, the forest was as dense as though a fog had rolled in. Mentally, Arthur kicked himself for leaving his torch behind even though it would have been extinguished by their flight.

Around him, crickets chirped, filling the silence after his call.

Crickets. It was always crickets. 

_ “Merlin!”  _

In his haste, he hadn’t thought to assemble the knights. Now, it would have been nice to have the extra sets of eyes scouring the forest even though the dragon  _ had  _ told him the tallest tree. Arthur looked up, but it was difficult to discern which of the trees stretched out farther than the others. 

That blasted dragon had barely given him  _ any  _ help, after all.

_ “ _ Merlin?” he tried again. His voice sounded muted among the miscellaneous noises of the forest.

He stumbled through the trees, using his hands and occasionally pulling out his sword to hack though some of the thicker vines (the forest was either going to be grateful for the cleanup job or angry at the havoc he was causing). 

The lull and darkness of the forest were starting to prod at Arthur’s nerves. Why couldn’t Merlin just answer him? He knew fae were in this forest, and Arthur was risking himself by trampling around in search of his manservant.

“Merlin!” he hissed. “If you’re hiding, this isn’t funny. Camelot is in danger, so get your sorry hide out here to help. Merlin?”

Blast it.

Ahead, he spotted a thin, silvery glow that reminded him of a unicorn.

Where a unicorn was, Merlin was bound to be close by. He had a sixth sense for magical creatures (and that was more than likely how  _ he  _ had discovered the dragon in the first place before Arthur). Arthur hastened towards the light.

As he pushed through another layer of leaves and vines, the “path” opened up to the shore of a lake. Although the sound had been masked by forest critters, Arthur now heard the gentle lapping of water against the shore, in the middle of which sprouted a gnarled, ancient, and towering oak - easily the tallest in the forest, just as the dragon had said. It was an oddly singular and lonely tree.

The white light emitted from a figure underneath the oak. It appeared to be a lady clothed in a dark red dress that seemed to glow from just underneath her skin.

At the sound of Arthur stepping on a twig, she looked up, and Arthur saw that she was leaning over a prone figure.

For the hundredth time that night, Arthur withdrew his sword. “Step away from him!” he ordered, putting on his most unwelcoming face and approaching cautiously. In his mind, there was no doubt she was fae.

“I’m only trying to help,” she told him earnestly. “He’s injured.”

“Did you injure him?” Arthur asked harshly.

It would just be like another fae to hurt Merlin and step around taking responsibility by not directly saying anything. If she was responsible, he was going to punish her as much as in his power.

“Of course not!” She seemed genuinely surprised. “He came to me for help.”

“He  _ came  _ to you?” Arthur was close enough that he could see that the figure on the ground was, in fact, Merlin but far enough away that he could not tell what was wrong with his manservant. “What’s wrong with him? What happened? Who are you?”

“I’m Freya.”

Arthur sucked in a breath. “ _ Freya?  _ Aren’t you-”

“Dead?” With the corner of her mouth, Freya smiled, but the action was forced and melancholy. 

“Yes.”

“I don’t have time to explain.” Freya knelt down next to Merlin. “He’s hurt quite badly.”

Yes, Arthur was trying to  _ see  _ that.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked. “What happened?” And would any fae answer any of his ruddy questions before it was too late? Since Freya was allowing him to approach, he crouched down next to Merlin.

The fae was lying on his stomach, his face pressed against the ground.

Freya grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it up with one hand while snapping with the other to produce a small orb of light.

Arthur gasped.

In the center of Merlin’s back was a ghastly wound. Black tentacles spiralled out from the center of what appeared to be a stab wound, and the entire mass was weeping a black substance.

The  _ smell.  _ Arthur gagged, turning to the side to spit. If his stomach hadn’t been relatively empty, he would have vomited.

“The lines are spreading,” Freya explained. “He is going to die soon.”

“That…” Arthur racked his head. “That looks like a  _ serket  _ sting.” 

Once, when Arthur had been younger, a group of Uther’s knights had been attacked by the beast in the forest. He remembered that it had been caused by fae and had taken the remaining knights a month to clear the forest until it was safe to return to again. Many had died before it was subdued.

“It is,” Freya agreed sadly. 

“What’s a serket doing around here? Aren’t they dead? Why did it sting Merlin? Aren’t you going to heal him?”

Arthur’s frustration was swelling. 

“I’m trying,” Freya snapped softly. “I only just found him before you came. He crawled here, to the lake. It was what roused me.”

Although Arthur was dying to hear more about Freya and Merlin and whatever happened to both of them, Merlin was also  _ literally  _ dying.

“Heal him,” he ordered even though Freya did not need his permission or prompting.

Leaving one hand on Merlin’s back, Freya closed her eyes and began to sing.

It was a sad song, twisting and turning like a river and filled with magical words that flew over Arthur’s head. The longer she sang, the sleepier Arthur became. Once, he nearly nodded off and fell on top of Merlin, but he managed to keep himself from doing so at the last second.

Freya’s eyes were glowing blue.

Mesmerized, Arthur stared at them. When he used his magic, Merlin’s turned gold.

He wondered what the difference was. How Freya could be here and be using magic when Merlin had implied that she was dead. 

Abruptly, in the middle of Arthur’s languid thoughts, the song cut off.

Arthur was thrown back into awareness. He shook his head, blinking. “What’s going on?” He looked back down at Merlin.

The wound was still there, but the oozing had ceased. His skin looked like pitted, veined marble. 

“Why didn’t you heal it all the way?”

None of this was making any sense. Was Merlin going to die because she didn’t complete the healing? If Merlin died, they were as good as dead.

“I can’t,” Freya said sadly, shaking her head. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I would if I could. Merlin isn’t going to die not - at least, not  _ yet.  _ I hope. He is stronger than this.”

Arthur hoped so.

“I would do more for him - I would give him my own life if he ever needed it - but I’m not here. I’m not there, either. I am as far away as the stars hanging over our heads.”

Arthur looked up. Thousands of stars were splattered across the sky, but Arthur was not one for admiring them on a good evening, even. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Freya let out a little sigh. “I’m not really here. I can’t be here. I’m  _ not  _ here, you see. Normally, I live in the lake. I like to think that I offer a hope of return when you think all is lost and you have been waiting forever. I’ve been waiting forever. Merlin disappeared for the longest time. He used to come and visit me before...before what happened. But I can’t ever go to him. Does that make sense?”

“No.” Arthur was torn between getting Merlin back to Camelot and cutting the conversation off before he was even more confused.

Freya furrowed her brow in her frustration. “I’ve been dead for so long that sometimes it’s hard to see what is sense.”

In his unconscious state, Merlin twitched, drawing Arthur’s attention like lightning.

“Is he waking up?” 

“No, he shouldn’t.” Freya reached out and ran a fingertip down the side of Merlin’s face, and he relaxed as her eyes twinkled blue again. “I’ll try to explain before he wakes up and you have to return. I know we fae can be frustrating, sometimes, but I promise you I’m not trying to be. Merlin will have to explain most of it to you, when he wakes up because that’s when I think you will need to know. But there was an argument in the Court. To punish Merlin, I was killed, but since Merlin had done nothing wrong, I now remain in the lake as...I wouldn’t say a  _ ghost…”  _ Freya was frowning again.

Arthur felt lost for Freya. “I’m sorry,” he offered up. “I…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say or what he was supposed to say, so he let the words die.

Freya lent him a small smile. “Merlin and I can never really be together because of what happened,” she said simply. “We can see each other because of who he is, but not for long. I missed him while he was asleep.”

Arthur nodded.

Merlin twitched again, and the action was followed by a little moan.

Freya sighed. “The lake is calling me back. I have to return. I’ve done all I can for him. Since I’m dead, I can only heal so much. Please take care of him, Arthur. You are the Once and Future King. You will need him.”

Abruptly, Freya stood. The blue light that she had been emitting the entire time began to flicker and pulsate. She walked back towards the lake until the water lapped at her feet.

Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes from her.

As she continued wading into the water, she looked back over her shoulder. “Tell Merlin I love him!” she shouted before diving beneath the lake’s surface.

The water shimmered blue, then gold. The surface turned as still as glass.

When Freya was gone, the light died, and Arthur could barely make out Merlin’s shape.

“Merlin,” he hissed after a minute had passed. 

Merlin groaned again and muttered something.

“Merlin!”

Normally, Arthur would have slapped Merlin to force him into consciousness, but Merlin was injured. He settled for gently easing his hands around his head and helping him twist over.

“ _ Ah,”  _ Merlin groaned.

In the dark, Arthur couldn’t see his face.

“Hurts.”

Belatedly, Arthur realized that he shouldn’t have tried to help.

“Hurts,” Merlin repeated. “Freya, it hurts.”

Arthur froze. Did Merlin think he was Freya? “Merlin, Freya left after she healed you. Can you hear me?”

Another unintelligible word.

Arthur was at a loss of what to do. He didn’t know whether he needed to get Merlin back to Camelot - back to Gaius, an actual physician - or let him lie there. Without light, he couldn’t possibly tell the extent of Merlin’s condition despite what Freya had said.

“Freya?” Merlin called.

“It’s me, Arthur. Prince Arthur. Pendragon. Not Freya.”

A muted snap startled Arthur, but it came from Merlin. A weak blue orb formed above Arthur’s head, but it illuminated enough that Arthur could see the glistened beads of sweat on Merlin’s forehead.

Arthur reached out and touched Merlin’s skin.

Merlin flinched.

It was burning. Freya hadn’t done enough.

“Freya,” Merlin echoed himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Arthur wasn’t sure if the liquid running down his face was tears or more sweat.

“It’s me, Arthur,” Arthur said awkwardly. 

“Oh.” Merlin moved.

Arthur panicked. “Don’t do that! You were stung by a serket. Most people...most  _ humans  _ don’t survive that.”

Oh, goodness, Merlin could have  _ died,  _ and Arthur never would have known. He would have waited and waited and waited for Merlin to return and help them, and Merlin could have been a corpse on the forest floor.

He  _ looked  _ like a corpse on the forest floor.

“Not human,” Merlin told him petulantly. “You clotpole.”

He was forming words better. That was a good sign, right? 

They needed to move.

“Can you stand?” Arthur asked. “We need to get you back Camelot.” He didn’t know what they were going to do then.

Although the wedding was now in two days (he guessed that it was well past midnight by this time), he doubted Merlin was going to be much help if he could barely even conjure a light.

“Try,” Merlin grunted. Before Arthur could stop him, he heaved himself to where he was lying on his back.

Instantly, he cried out.

“Don’t do that, you imbecile,” Arthur snapped. His joints protesting, he got to his feet. “If you can stand, I can...support you...or something.”

“You didn’t bring a horse?” Merlin asked without opening his eyes. His face was still screwed up in pain, and Arthur took that as permission to go ahead and prop Merlin up with his arm.

“No, your ruddy dragon brought me here.”

Merlin’s eyes popped open. “What? Kilgharrah?”

So the clever beast had a name. “Yes, that idiot.”

Merlin groaned. “Oh no. You released him.”

“I had to if I wanted to find you! This is your fault, Merlin.”

Merlin either knew he couldn’t argue or didn’t have the energy to, and that worried Arthur. Merlin was pigheaded. On a good day, everything was Arthur’s wrongdoing.

Arthur pulled Merlin to his feet, and the fae unsteadily stumbled forward. Without Arthur, he would have face planted.

“I missed Freya,” he murmured. “She was here. I can feel her magic.”

“Yes.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. She had to leave because you slept in so long.” Never mind that it was the middle of the night and that both of them should have been snoring away.

“Oh.” On his feet, Merlin slumped forward as though he were going to fall asleep on the spot or faint.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, supporting Merlin with his shoulder more as they started heading back in the direction of Camelot.

“Fae.” Merlin wrinkled his nose. “They’re so rude. Rude, Arthur. Ruder than you. They...I don’t remember how they got me here. I think it had to do something with that Lady Catrina.” He snorted. “Funny how I don’t remember that but remember so much more.”

“Are there fae in the forest?” Arthur asked, alarmed.

He glanced back and forth, but the forest was as dark and elusive as ever.

“No, not anymore. They left after they thought I was dead.” Merlin stumbled again. “They heard from the other rude one. They want us dead.”

“Who wants us dead?” Arthur thought their biggest problem was dealing with a troll and the wedding, not fighting off magical assassins. 

“I have a list under my bed,” Merlin mumbled sleepily. “Would you like me to fetch it?”

Before Arthur could answer, Merlin toppled forward, nearly taking Arthur with him.

…

Kilgharrah had taken Arthur far, far into the forest.

Within ten minutes of tramping through the underbrush, Arthur was sweating almost as much as Merlin.

Merlin stopped talking. Whenever Arthur tried to engage him to assess how lucid he was, he muttered, “Go away, Arthur. You’re bothering me.”

Normally, Arthur would have been glad for some peace and quiet from Merlin. Now, however, it was quite disconcerting.

It reminded him of when Merin drank the poison for him.

On top of having to carry Merlin’s weight for an indiscernible distance, Arthur also kept running into noxious mushrooms. He didn’t know what they were, but every time his foot  _ barely brushed  _ one of them, it spat a cloud of white spores into the air that floated into his nose and made him want to sneeze.

Every once in a while, when he was conscious, Merlin hacked and sputtered.

Arthur continued for what felt like hours and probably was, for the shade of the forest turned from black to charcoal grey to dusty cat fur. His energy was draining from his body at an alarming rate now that the adrenaline from the dragon and finding Merlin had worn off. He hadn’t fallen asleep, and it was nigh on morning as far as he could discern. Nothing sounded better than falling into his own bed and sleeping for an entire week. 

From off in the distance, a shout broke into Arthur’s meandering thoughts.

_ “Arthur!” _

At this point, Arthur didn’t care if it were George. He would welcome anybody. “Over here!” he yelled. 

Now that he had found Merin, the forest seemed much more cooperative, almost conciliatory in aiding them get to the edge. 

“ _ Sire!”  _

“Here!” Arthur was exhausted. With aid in earshot, he found himself sinking to the ground with Merlin, who was once again out of the land of the living.

(Arthur decided that that was a terrible expression.)

“We’re over here!” He leaned his back against the tree.

The knights would be there soon. They would help Merlin…get him back in Camelot in time to stop the wedding.

“ _ Arthur!”  _

Something tried to remove Merlin’s weight from his legs, and Arthur jolted awake.

His face devoid of his normal charming smile, Gwaine was in front of them, holding a hand to Merlin’s forehead.

“His back,” Arthur croaked. “Serket. I found him. We have to get back to Camelot.”

Suddenly, Percival was there, helping Arthur to his feet. 

“We came as quickly as we found out you were gone,” he told Arthur. “There have been reports-”

A roar cut off his words. 

“No,” Merlin groaned. “No, no, no. He-”

Arthur’s heart sank. 

“Of that,” Percival concluded grimly.

“You let him out?” Merlin asked, almost hysterical through the pain radiating across his face

“It’s all right, mate,” Gwaine tried to assure him. “We’ll get you back to Camelot and get all of this sorted out in a jiffy.”

“You don’t  _ understand,”  _ Merlin groaned. “He may appear calm, but Kilgharrah is  _ angry.”  _

Gwaine looked confused, but Arthur understood. He had seen it enough times with Merlin and other fae to know that Kilgharrah would take out that anger on whatever he saw fit.

Yes, he had vowed that he wouldn’t burn Camelot -  _ at that time.  _

If it wouldn’t have taken so much energy, Arthur would have slapped himself for not paying close enough attention to the dragon’s words.

“We have to get back,” Arthur said, “quickly.”

He wasn’t sure what they were going to do  _ when  _ they got there, but he would cross that bridge whenever they came to it.

Somehow.

Within a few steps, Arthur was able to brush Percival off and walk to the horse that the knights had brought. In the morning light, the forest appeared brighter and less menacing.

On horseback, they raced through the forest, but their pace was far slower than a dragon’s.

Merlin’s horse was next to Arthur’s, and every time his horse jolted him, he cried out in pain.

Each noise made Arthur cringe.

When the forest thinned out into the open countryside, Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief, but his solace was squashed by the sight in front of him.

Thick black clouds of smoke wafted up from the citadel and the castle, and faint screams filled the air. 

The knights reigned in their horses.

Above it all flew Kilgharrah, spinning and twisting in the air as it released a shoot of flame.

After circling above the city once more, the black shape of the dragon rose into the air before lazily flapping its wings and taking itself away, leaving havoc in its wake.

Camelot was on fire.


	17. You can't do it without Merlin

For a second, Arthur was paralyzed, staring at the flames licking across the edge of the sky.

Then, he swore in a fashion that would have made his nursemaid wash his mouth out with the holiest of water and the bitterest of soaps.

“What about Gwen and Morgana? Are they all right? My father-”

Without finishing his sentence or waiting for an answer, Arthur spurred his horse forwards.

Behind him, the pounding of hooves signalled that his knights had followed suit.

The closer they drew, the more the scent of smoke invaded Arthur’s nostrils. Out of the citadel poured hundreds of people, wailing and crying as they ran for their lives.

“Elyan!” someone cried over the caterwaul. “Elyan!”

“Gwen!” Elyan broke free from their group to maneuver his horse to his sister, and Arthur felt momentarily washed over with relief.

Gwen was all right. Good. That was one person he didn’t have to work about. 

“Where’s Morgana?” he yelled at her over the shouts and caterwauling. Through the hustle and bustle of the crowd, he could barely catch a glimpse of her long enough, but she appeared to be fine if not harried. Her hair was loose.

“She went to help with the waterlines!”

Surprise flitted through Arthur, but his attention was drawn by a ghostly hand on his arm. “Castle’s burning,” Merlin rasped.

His eyes were moving in and out of focus as they flicked to the flames and then to the smoke that was pouring throughout the city.

“I can see that,” Arthur snapped. 

Most of the castle was engulfed by the flame. A chain of water buckets wasn’t going to be effective enough. 

“Gaius.” Merlin’s forehead wrinkled in worry. 

Arthur was taut with frustration. Chances of stopping the fire were low, and he had no idea where the court physician let alone where his own father was.

“I don’t know!” he exploded. “I don’t know, Merlin!”

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbled even though it wasn’t his fault.

Arthur felt like a duck trying to swim upstream. Everything had gone wrong so  _ quickly,  _ and Arthur was so  _ helpless.  _

He was about to spur his horse away when Merlin’s weak grip tightened on his arm. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking away.

Giving up, Merlin bowed his head.

Arthur felt angry - he wasn’t sure if it was at Merlin or at Kilgharrah or Lady Catrina or -

The smoke disappeared.

In a flash, it was gone as though it had never been there in the first place.

At first, the crowd surrounding them was too busy panicking to pay attention, but they  _ did  _ notice when the flames that had been jumping from house to house in search of new prey evaporated into the sky, sizzling out with a loud bang.

“What in  _ fae-”  _

Merlin hadn’t been bowing his head in guilt. He’d been covering up the tell-tale flash of gold in his eyes as he used his magic.

The fae slumped forward, slipping to the left.

Arthur was too late to catch him.

…

Lancelot helped Arthur heave Merlin’s body back onto his horse and led it into the castle’s courtyard.

Arthur would be forever grateful to the fae (although he would more than likely never actually say that to Merlin’s face). Without Merlin’s magic, the damage would have been far worse.

Only half of the castle appeared to be majorly devastated. The flames had blackened that side of the structure along with some of the outer marble, and the wooden roof was charred and collapsing in. It appeared that the fire had jumped from that part of the castle to the rest of the city.

Guards and castle servants were running across the courtyard, in and out of the castle, but all of them made way for the knights of Camelot (plus Merlin). As soon as they reached the doors to the castle, they dismounted, and their horses were immediately taken away. 

Lancelot carried Merlin in bridal-style.

Before turning off, Arthur directed Lancelot. “Take him to Gaius. Make sure Gaius is all right and then have him treat Merlin. Tell him it was a serket.”

Lancelot nodded.

Arthur hastened to find his father.

Through the few throngs of people he pushed himself, stopping only to demand if they had seen the king.

The answer was always negative, and Arthur’s frustration increased. What kind of servants didn’t know where the king of the entire ruddy country was? Did no one care?

When a quick search of the unscorched part of the castle proved fruitless, Arthur moved to the other half of the castle, picking his way through charred pieces of wood and tapestries.

“Father?” he called out. “Are you here?”

It was the side of the castle where guests usually stayed - really, Uther had no reason for being over there ninety percent of the time, so Arthur planned to complete a quick survey before returning to the citadel. After all, the king of Camelot could not walk very far out of his own rooms without being flanked by someone, and it was quite dark in the corridors. Arthur didn’t want to linger any longer than necessary. 

“Father!” he called.

He paused just to make sure that Uther wasn’t shouting for someone, and he was turning to leave that part of the castle when he heard-

Crying.

Not the high-pitched sobs of a child or a woman, but a deep-throated, anguish-filled sound.

Arthur was alarmed.

“Father? Hello?”

Merlin and his ability to conjure blue lights would have been helpful if he hadn’t been injured and if Uther hadn’t hated fae. Arthur wouldn’t have been able to see a blasted thing if not for the holes in the roof.

“Are you here?” Arthur crossed the remainder of the room. Because of the destroyed walls, he was able to move directly from room to room in places in his search for the source of the sound.

He ventured into one of the suites that were reserved for visitors of more prestige. The tapestries on the walls had fallen into sizzling heaps on the ground, and he noticed that the silk bed sheets were spotted with burnt holes. It would be years before the room was ready for use again, and Arthur was grateful that his rooms were on the other side of the castle.

At the end of the day, he would be able to return to them and sleep in his own bed.

In the center of the guest room, he halted. Even in the gloom and doom of the burned section, he could make out the figures on the floor.

Uther was crouched over a fat, lumpy body in a noblewoman’s dress. Now that he was closer, Arthur could smell the revolting stench of a troll over ash and smoke.

“ _ Father?”  _ Taking a few steps forward, Arthur plugged his nose. What in fae was his father doing? The troll appeared to be dead, and-

Oh.

Arthur halted. The troll was dead. 

They had failed to break the enchantment. There were still two days until the wedding, and he thought there was  _ time,  _ but now…

The troll was dead, and Uther was still enchanted.

As far as Uther knew, the second love of his life was dead on the floor in front of him, charred and blackened and almost unrecognizable except for its distinct shape and the smell.

“She’s dead.” Uther spoke abruptly. “She’s  _ dead.”  _

Arthur awkwardly approached. “Father. This part of the building isn’t safe. We need to move elsewhere.”

“She’s  _ dead,” _ Uther repeated. “Catrina is dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

(Arthur was not. He was angrier over the fact that she had died and left Uther with an enchantment hanging over his head. _

“She is  _ dead.”  _ Uther looked down at the lumpy visage of his “love.”

“We will make sure she receives a proper burial,” Arthur vowed, already making plans for checking in with Gaius to see if Merlin was capable of returning his father to his right mind. 

The sooner, the better. “Come on.” He tried to pry his father away from Lady Catrina’s body. “The knights will take care of...her.”

His eyes never leaving the troll’s body, Uther shrugged off Arthur’s hands. “No. I will stay with her. I will carry her. Have a room made ready for her.”

“Father…”

Uther’s eyes flashed. “Do it.” Ignoring Arthur, he scooped up the remains of Lady Catrina’s body into his arms. Soot smeared against his clothes.

Arthur bowed his head. “As you wish.”

Slowly, his eyes still glued to the troll’s ugly face, Uther made his way from the room, nearly dropping the body when he didn’t see a charred beam in his path.

From the brief glimpse Arthur had caught of his face, Arthur knew that he was consumed.

…

Before entering the physician’s chambers, he knocked.

“ _ Come in.”  _

It was Gaius’s voice.

Arthur pushed open the door and was immediately attacked.

A large mass of brown swooped down from the ceiling at Arthur’s head.

“Ah!” He dove to the floor, narrowly missing having his head shredded by the owl’s talons. “Gaius!”

“Aithusa!” Gaius barked. “Away from him!”

As the owl made another dive for his head, Arthur crawled underneath the table. From there, he watched as Gaius snatched up the nearest broom and brandished it at the bird.

“Back!” Gaius chided. “You know you are  _ not  _ allowed-”

Arthur made to get out from underneath the table, and the owl went for him again.

“One moment, sire.” Gaius sighed.

Arthur heard the light thud of the broom against something, the screeching of the bird, and shuffling. A door slammed.

Assuming it was safe, Arthur crawled out from underneath the table.

“I apologize, sire,” Gaius said, emerging from the room that he had shut Arthur’s attacker in. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

“What in fae was  _ that?”  _ Arthur didn’t remember Gaius owning an owl the last time he had set foot in the physician’s rooms.

“That was Aithusa.”

That explained it  _ perfectly.  _ “Who is Aithusa?” he demanded.

“Merlin’s pet owl.”

“What?”

Of all the ridiculous things Merlin had done, catching a wild owl for a  _ pet  _ was on top of the list.

“he’s quite taken with Merlin,” Gaius explained. “He did not want to leave his side.”

Arthur’s gaze flicked over to the ever-present cot where Merlin now lay. “Is Merlin all right? Is he going to live?”

“Yes, he will.” Gaius eased himself down onto the table’s bench. “He used his magic when he should not have, but with rest and medicine, he should make a recovery if there are no complications. Magic can be tricky.”

Relief flooded Arthur. “Good. Where are the knights?”

“I sent them out to see if anyone was injured in the citadel.”

Arthur nodded again. Later, he would ask more about Merlin and the rest of the city, but other matters were more pressing. “I have a problem with my father. Did Merlin tell you about the troll?”

“Yes.”

“She’s dead,” Arthur informed him shortly, crossing his arms. He felt extra energy running through him underlining the exhaustion from lack of sleep. “My father is still under the enchantment.”

Gaius’s expression turned grave. “That is a perilous condition, sire. Even though she is dead, the control of the enchantment remains.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “I would ask Merlin to fix it, but-”

“Even if he is on the road to recovery, Merlin is in no condition to do that,” Gaius interrupted sharply. “Gwaine told me he stopped the fire. His magic kept him alive. Any other human or even fae would have died.”

“Freya healed him. Mostly.”

“Ah.”

While the older man watched him, Arthur tried to think. He needed to come up with a solution for the dragon, for Merlin, and for his father, but he was currently paralyzed. If Merlin hadn’t been injured so badly, he would have been able to break the enchantment and maybe even help deal with the dragon.

Everything rested on Merlin, but the fae was weak and unconscious.

“How long will it take him to wake up?” Arthur asked. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never dealt with a survivor of a serket sting before.”

Arthur nodded. He had expected about as much.

From the door that led to Merlin’s room came a muffled thud.

Gaius sighed. “That owl.” He started to say something else about Aithusa, but he was cut off by a knock on the door. “Come in.”

Leon poked his head in the door. “How’s Merlin?”

“Chances of him dying in the next twenty-four hours are relatively low, but he has severely exhausted himself.”

Leon nodded and then turned his attention to Arthur. “The other knights are working on calming the city. Only one or two fatalities as far as we know. Most of the damage was inflicted on the castle. Your father-” Here, Leon hesitated. 

“I know.” Arthur didn’t want to hear what he already knew. “Tell one of the knights - the palaces guards, even, if they’re still around, to keep an eye on him. I want to know if there are any changes in his mental condition. In the meantime-”

“If you will allow me, sire,” Gaius broke in, drawing Arthur’s attention.

“What?”

“You need to rest,” Gaius told him in a reasonable tone that made Arthur far angrier at him than it should have.

“I’ll rest once Merlin wakes up and my father is returned to his right mind,” Arthur snapped. “My father -  _ King Uther -  _ is sobbing over the dead body of a  _ troll.  _ Speaking of trolls, where’s Morgana?” 

Apparently easily giving up on convincing Arthur of his need to sleep, Gaius stood and moved to mess with some herbs.

“Morgana is locating the councilmen,” Leon informed him. “As soon as you are able, there is to be a meeting on how to approach His Majesty.”

Good. Arthur nodded his approval. Until Merlin fixed the enchantment, the most logical step would be to appoint a regent. As crown prince, that would be Arthur, so naturally-

Gaius placed a mug of steaming liquid in Arthur’s hands.

“What is this?” He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. 

Over the years, Gaius had given him various concoctions for various ailments and comfort, but this one was relatively new-smelling.

“A drink for rejuvenation.”

Looking back inside the cup, Arthur raised his eyebrows. Well, if it kept him from falling asleep, he was all for it. 

After blowing on the contents of the cup to keep himself from burning his tongue, Arthur took several sips.

It was slightly bitter and slightly sweet at the same time, but Arthur couldn’t care less at the moment. Gaius was sending him a strange, disconcerting look, but he paid the older man no heed. He worried too much in his old age. Arthur was perfectly fine.

As Arthur drained the last bit in the cup, Gaius cleared his throat.

“Right,” Leon said, realizing that he was still standing in the doorway. “I’ll tell Morgana where you are. Let us know if Merlin wakes.”

“I’ll tell her where I am myself,” Arthur said, irritably. He had already sat around for too long. Reaching forward to hand the cup back to Gaius, Arthur got to his feet.

He overestimated. The world tilted around him, and he almost gutted himself on the table edge. “Woah.” He blinked. “Gaius, what did you put  _ in  _ this? I think you went a little too heavy on the...on the…” His brain scrambled for the name of the right herb and came up with nothing.

Gaius took the cup from him. “Leon, help him to the spare cot.”

“I’m  _ perfectly  _ all right,” Arthur insisted. He was simply a little tired. After a few minutes, he would be able to brush it off and-

…

“You drugged me,” Arthur accused Gaius. 

“I simply helped your body achieve what it was already heading towards,” Gaius replied calmly without turning around to face Arthur. “You couldn’t have done anything useful.”

Arthur disagreed. “It was completely unnecessary,” he fumed. “Morgana was calling-”

As if on cue, Morgana breezed into the room without knocking. “It’s all been taken care of. Considering Uther’s current mental state and the enchantment, you have been appointed regent in his place. How’s Merlin? Gwen was worried about him.”

With guilt, Arthur started. In his outrage at finding himself drugged, he’d quite forgotten about his manservant. Tossing away the blankets, he abandoned his cot to cross the room and look at the fae.

Underneath his own blankets, Merlin looked relatively peaceful.

“Still asleep.” Gaius’s voice was tired, adding more to Arthur’s guilt. “He woke up while you were under, sire, and muttered a few things.”

Morgana made a noise in the back of her throat.

Arthur had never felt so helpless before in his entire life. He  _ needed  _ Merlin, and while he was extremely grateful that Merlin had kept the entirety of Camelot from burning to the ground, he was irritated at the fae for abandoning them for sleep.

“Will he be in a lot of pain when he wakes up?” Morgana asked. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about magical maladies.”

“I don’t know,” Gaius answered, but Arthur had a feeling that he did.

“Right.” Morgana pursed her lips. “Arthur, I hate to interrupt your nap-”

“I would hardly call that a nap,” he scoffed.

“But your presence is required. Some of the members of the court want to hear what you’re going to do about the dragon and Uther.”

Right. After looking one last time at Merlin (who could have been made out of stone for how still he looked at that moment), Arthur turned to Gaius. “The knights are probably going to be around. If he wakes up, send for me at once.”

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur prepared himself for a very long, very tedious, and  _ very  _ boring meeting without Merlin.

…

Arthur wasn’t quite sure how they managed to call together such a meeting without Uther hearing about it and insisting on being present, but he assumed that Uther was continually consumed with Lady Catrina’s death and could have cared more.

It was utterly pointless.

What Arthur could have mentally decided in ten minutes, the lords dragged out for two hours, debating whether or not they should deal with the dragon (most definitely, in Arthur’s opinion, since Kilgharrah saw no problem with burning Camelot to the ground and would probably return for more), whether or not they should attempt contact with fae in order to fix Uther (an idea which was shot down immediately by all, including Arthur, because its ridiculousness), and how to deal with those left homeless by the dragon’s destruction.

If it brought them some amount of comfort and control, however, Arthur wasn’t going to deny them that even though he spent the entire time fiddling with his quill and worrying about whether or not Merlin was going to wake up anytime soon.

What if Gaius was overly optimistic and the damage from the serket’s sting was extensive?

Although Merlin had seemed somewhat  _ fine  _ for being attacked by such a beast, Arthur could have very easily missed something since his manservant had been smothered by blankets. Whatever poison the serkets had given him could have also had a delayed reaction. 

What if he woke up blind or paralyzed or brain dead?

Arthur had heard of peasants hitting their heads and never being the same again, and Freya had stated that she wasn’t certain if Merlin was going to even  _ live.  _

It wasn’t that bad, surely. Gaius would have been much more worried and would have said  _ something.  _

Pressing too hard against the paper in front of him, Arthur broke the nib on his quill. 

Blast it.

Before Arthur could request another quill, Gwaine slipped into the room, sending a solemn wink in Arthur’s direction.

Arthur sat straight up and raised his eyebrows.

Gwaine nodded.

As he scrambled to his feet in a manner slightly less dignified than it should have been for a council meeting, Arthur dearly hoped that Gwaine was answering the right question.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Something has come to my attention that I must deal with as soon as possible.”

None of the lords were  _ pleased _ at the interruption, but none of them voiced their opinion.

As soon as they were out of the room, Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder. “Rough day, it’s been,” he remarked. “Feels like we’re trampling through molasses. Merlin’s awake, by the way, but you might have to toss out Gwen if you want to speak to him. She’s hogging him.”

Arthur found the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “She would.”

“When he first woke up, he asked for Freya, and then he asked where in the blue blazes you were and how much had been burned. I think he’s mad at that ruddy dragon,” Gwaine commented.

“Did you tell him Lady Catrina is dead?” 

“Not yet. Gaius might’ve while I came to fetch you.” Gwaine frowned. “It’s too early in the morning for all of this. I need a drink.”

“Stay away from the tavern. You’re...on duty or something.” The last thing Arthur needed was to bail out a drunk Gwaine. “How is he?”

“As far as I can tell, fine.” Gwaine shrugged. “He started going off in that  _ fae  _ speak. Couldn’t understand a word.”

It was Arthur’s turn to frown and wonder about a drink. That was either a good sign or a bad one.

Ahead of Arthur, Gwaine pushed open the door to the physician’s rooms. “Guess who’s here to see you!” he announced.

Merlin groaned. 

“I wake up with a massive headache, and one of the first people you want me to see is  _ Arthur?”  _

“Merlin!” Gwen scolded him.

“Oh, look, there’s Gwaine. Hello, Gwaine.”

“Hey, mate.”

Merlin was sitting up, but he looked as though he could slowly topple over if Gwen weren’t sitting on one side of him.

As soon as she saw Arthur, Gwen scrambled to her feet and then immediately realized her mistake. “Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry!”

“Ow, ow,  _ ow _ ,” Merlin hissed.

“I’m sorry!” Gwen helped him back up. 

“It’s all right.”

While Gwen helped Merlin find a position that was comfortable, Arthur pulled out one of Gaius’s spare chairs.

Even though he chafed at the delay at solving their problems, he waited until Gwen did a cross between a curtsey and a wave and pushed Gwaine out the door.

“How is your father?” Merlin asked before Arthur could pose a how-are-you question to him.

Arthur grimmanced. “Lady Catrina is dead. Uther is still…”

“Ah.” Merlin frowned. “I see.”

A long pause stretched between them. Arthur wasn’t sure where to start. He had waited what felt like an eon for Merlin to wake up, but now that the fae was conscious, he didn’t know where to start. Did he ask him about breaking the enchantment? The dragon? What had happened in the fae Court? What in fae was going on?

Merlin looked half-dead.

As if reading his mind, Merlin huffed. “Quit looking at me like I’m dandelion dust, Arthur. I’ve seen you in worse condition.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Really. I highly doubt that. I seem to remember you drinking poison once.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Well, that just goes to prove how good of a memory you have.”

“As if you’re one to talk,” Arthur retorted, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs since it appeared he would be there a while.

“Go on,” Merlin prompted.

“What?”

“I am really, really, really tired,” Merlin told him flatly. “If you need to ask me questions - and don’t tell me you don’t because I know you do - hurry up and get it over with so I can sleep.”

For a minute, Arthur debated between which of the two main matters to bring up first and finally settled on the most pressing of the two. “Can you disenchant my father?”

Briefly, Merlin closed his eyes. “Not now.”

Arthur filed the question in the back of his brain to bring up again later. “All right. Next is...Kilgharrah is still...you know...burning things.” At least, Arthur was assuming.

“Ah. Yes.” Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “He is a bee with a second sting. I was afraid the ripples would reach the edge of the shore, but I couldn’t stop the stone.”

“Quit using fae speak, Merlin. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Merlin grimmanced. “Sorry.”

“I don’t understand. What  _ happened?  _ With the dragon. With Freya. With the Court. I don’t understand  _ any  _ of this.” He waved a hand around. He had a feeling that all of it was connected, but he couldn’t find the threads. “While she was healing you, Freya told me that she was killed because of an argument.”

“Yes.” A shadow flashed over Merlin’s face, and he pursed his lips. “In a way, that is somehow related to Kilgharrah. Arthur, how much do you know of the Purge?”

“Disagreement between fae and humans. We were able to drive fae back to wherever they live now with metal, obviously, and with the aid of fae who sympathized with us and helped us with fae-restricting spells among other things.”

“Yes, well, that’s a nice summary. Kilgharrah ended up in your basement, Arthur, because of an argument in the fae Court over ascension to the throne. There were two parties - families, I suppose - who both believed they were better at ruling past the curtains.”

Arthur learned forward.

“One was the rightful line by blood. The other was not. But the second one was slightly more ruthless, rude, and more powerful with magic than the first and started a fight. They were sort of...nasty, and that’s where you humans entered in. They started attacking humans, and the Purge began not long after. Long story short, the second family promised Uther that they would chain the dragon in your basement if they gave him access to metal, which we as fae can’t really mine even  _ with  _ our magic and a bunch of other rules that have been laid down, and with Uther’s help and their combined power, they were able to drive out the first family.”

That didn’t really make sense to Arthur, but he didn’t have the mental energy to puzzle through the semantics of fae and metal. “So you and Freya picked the wrong sides, and they killed Freya as a result.”

“Something like that.”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. “Well, that explains why Kilgharrah would want to burn down Camelot.”

“Yes, doesn’t it? Although he was doing quite a good job before he was imprisoned, too. I don’t think he can quite decide whether or not he can tolerate us.” 

At that moment, a loud screech came to the sound of Merlin’s bedroom. 

“Aithusa!” Merlin exclaimed, moving as if to get up.

“No!” Arthur leaped to his feet, nearly knocking over the chair. “Stay put.”

Merlin frowned. “I was just going to open the door so he could get some fresh air.”

“Merlin, you can barely stand, let alone  _ cross the room.”  _ And if Merlin let Aithusa out,she was going to tear Arthur the shreds. 

“Can you let him out for me, then?”

“No!”

Despite the need for sleep befuddling his eyes, Merlin gave Arthur a shrewd look. “Is there something wrong with my owl?”

Besides its hate for Arthur’s hair? “Of course not.”

“Hmm.”

“So was it this second family that attacked you in the forest?” Arthur asked.

The change of subject worked. “Yes. I think they’re the ones who targeted Uther, as well.” A look of disgust crossed Merlin’s face. “They’re wicked, Arthur. They think it’s fine to go around  _ enchanting  _ people when magic isn’t supposed to be like that. Magic isn’t  _ intended  _ to do that. It’s a corruption. I doubt I could enchant you, Arthur, unless I touched some  _ really  _ dark magic. And I would rather  _ die  _ than do that.” Merlin shivered. 

“And you didn’t think of telling me this when we first met?”

“Would have believed me?” Merlin countered, frowning. “Besides, it’s really hard to describe it. They’re just not using magic right, and they don’t appreciate that some of us won’t do it, too. That’s why they sent the serkets after me. They found out that I was still alive. Until then, I’d been living in the forest, mostly, out of the reach of the fae who supported their rule.”

Arthur couldn’t even tease Merlin for being a coward. “Gracious.”

“Yes. I’d felt some winds blowing, but I didn’t expect them to be quite this strong.”

Since he couldn’t think of anything to say to that, Arthur simply nodded. “What do we do now?” he asked after they both sat in silence for a few minutes, each of them musing over their own thoughts.

Arthur was surprised that Merlin hadn’t fallen asleep yet while talking to him.

“Well…” Merlin began, shifting and wincing. “I’m not quite sure.”

Although Arthur felt bad for maintaining the conversation while Merlin was hurt, he needed the answer to one more question. “What do we do about Uther?”

“I can try to break the enchantment once Gaius lets me,” Merlin said, “but that isn’t always a guarantee. Lady Catrina  _ might  _ not have been the one to cast the enchantment, but her death  _ has  _ affected his head. The damage could be permanent.”

Arthur was not quite sure how he felt about that. His father and he had never been close, but Uther  _ was  _ still his father. Through a lump in his throat, he swallowed. “All right. In the meantime, the knights and I will see to Kilgharrah.”

Despite the sleep and exhausting clouding his eyes, Merlin set his face determinedly. “I’m coming with you.”

Arthur snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m as serious as a turtle intent on murder.”

“What good are  _ you  _ going to be against a dragon? You were stung by a  _ serket  _ and can’t move without looking like you just saw one of the court artist’s paintings _.  _ I’d rather be accompanied by a drunk Gwaine.” 

At least an inebriated Gwaine would be able to sit on a horse without falling over.

“By the way, where’s Gaius?” Arthur asked, appraising the room. “Isn’t he supposed to be here to knock you unconscious or something?”

“He’s in the citadel. I told him I would be fine with Gwen and Gwaine. Quit trying to change the subject.”

It was quite difficult to take Merlin seriously when he was starting to tilt over towards the cot’s pillows, and Arthur was afraid that he had stayed far too long questioning Merlin and that the fae was about to slump over. “You’re not coming, Merlin, and that’s final.”

“No, Arthur,” Merlin insisted. “Running after a dragon by yourself and without magic is a fool’s errand. You have to take me. If you don’t, you’ll  _ never  _ be able to deal with Kilgharrah.”

As if to punctuate his words, Aithusa angrily screeched. 


	18. Hey, Arthur, I think I'm going to faint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter, but I couldn't think of a way to fix it...

“This is a bad idea,” Arthur announced.

Everyone ignored him.

As prince of Camelot, Arthur was not used to being ignored by anybody (except for Merlin, but that was a rather recent development in the span of his lifetime).

When they continued to ignore him, Arthur cleared his throat. “I do not think you heard me.  _ This is a bad idea.”  _

“Duly noted and duly ignored,” Merlin wheezed from where he was leaning over his horse like a dead man.

“Does no one else think it isn’t a good idea for a half-dead man to embark on a who-knows-how-many-days journey on the back of a ruddy horse?” Arthur demanded.

Next to Arthur on his horse, Percival looked helplessly at Arthur and shrugged.

Ahead of Arthur, Gwaine shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure saying anything is going to change Merlin’s mind.”

Arthur disagreed. They outnumbered Merlin six to one, and Merlin was a scrawny person. Whenever Arthur asked him to lug water somewhere, he always complained and looked like a willow tree about to bow over by the time he got the water up the castle stairs.

“I’m not going to change my mind, Arthur, so you might as well save your breath the rest of the trip. I’m a little tired of hearing you go on and on and on and  _ on.” _

“I’m a little tired of hearing you two go at it,” Gwaine complained. “Can’t we have a bit of peace and quiet?”

“With you around?” Percival retorted. “All I’ve been hearing about for the last six days is that new barmaid down at the Golden Lion.”

“No,” Merlin groaned. “No, I don’t want to hear about that again. Can’t you give an injured man some reprieve?”

Over the beating of the horses’ hooves, Arthur heard Leon snort.

“Where exactly are we headed?” Elyan asked. “I know we’re headed north.”

This was another problem. “I don’t know,” Arthur gritted through his teeth. “Why don’t you ask  _ Merlin?”  _

As part of his blackmail for being allowed on the trip, Merlin had insisted that he knew where they had to go to find Kilgharrah and that he would  _ not  _ disclose any information unless Arthur took him.

Ruddy fae and their secrecy. For once, Arthur would have liked to know what was going on instead of being kept in the dark until the magic user was right on their doorstep or the entire countryside was on fire.

Ruddy fae and their fire.

“Sorry,” Merlin wheezed, and Arthur felt a stab of guilt for badmouthing the fae in his head when he was still injured. “I have to make sure before I say anything.”

“Make sure of what?” Percival asked.

“Something. Sorry.”

“Is there a particular reason you have to make sure?” Arthur pressed. He didn’t want to travel all that way only for it to be thrown back in their faces.

“Yes.”

Merlin did not elaborate, so Arthur dropped the subject.

Near the end of the day, when they were setting up camp for the evening, Merlin commented, “Flocks of birds close to the ground. Going to be a storm.”

…

Merlin was right.

Their progress towards Merlin’s unspecified location was cut short, and they were forced to partially wait it out huddled underneath their cloaks.

Arthur was majorly tempted to ask Merlin to magic all of the rain or somehow keep them from getting soaked, but the second they had stopped for the evening the previous day, Merlin had fallen asleep.

Gwaine was sitting next to Arthur, huddled up in his cloak. “Gaius asked me to see if his bandages needed changed, but I don’t think I want to wake him.”

Arthur was already scrutinizing Merlin, who was wrapped up in at least three blankets (courtesy of the other knights, who claimed that they would be soaked and go to waste if Merlin didn’t take them).

(They were all softies.)

Arthur frowned. “Does he need something for a pillow?” He caught the slight grin pulling at the corners of Gwaine’s mouth. “I’m not  _ concerned.  _ I just don’t want the only person in our group who knows where we are going to fall off his horse later and break his neck.”

Arthur himself was uncomfortable. Although his cloak was keeping many parts of him from being soaked, the thick fabric could only do so much. Every once in a while, he cast a glance to the sky to see if the storm looked like it was going to roll over soon, and Elyan, Percival, or Leon got up to check on the horses.

When the rain didn’t let up within an hour, they loaded their packed up supplies onto the horses and shook Merlin awake.

“Blasted humans,” he muttered, only halfway coherent. “Don’t know how to value sleep.”

Within ten minutes of being back on the road, Arthur wished that they had left their camp sooner because the way was a mudslide. Their horses struggled through the quagmire. Because they stopped intermittently to give the horses a break, they made little progress.

Arthur overheard Merlin telling Lancelot, “I would help if I could, but it feels like I’ve been stabbed in the back with a molten poker. I’m sorry. Thanks for the blankets.”

Lancelot gently clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Merlin. No one’s judging you.”

“I feel like a sitting duck. Or a sitting goose. Or a cross between the two. Oh, speaking of ducks-”

Whenever Merlin started talking about his favorite ducks, Arthur ignored the rest of the conversation.

Late in the afternoon, the rain stopped, and they were able to throw off their cloaks and stop looking like old witches. 

All of them were miserable. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about Uther and Kilgharrah, and he imagined that the others were doing the same in their quiet state. Although they needed some sort of distraction, Arthur wasn’t sure how to give it to them. At least there was going to be hot food that evening, Arthur reasoned. 

Until they stopped for camp that evening, and Percival went to start a campfire. 

“ _ Percival’s  _ not cooking, is he?”

Percival frowned. “What’s wrong with my cooking?”

Everything was wrong with Percival’s cooking. His mother hadn’t caught the hang of it, and her talents had been passed on to her son.

“Everything,” Leon told him gravely, echoing Arthur’s thoughts.

Percival cocked his head. “Think you can do better, Leon?”

Leon held up his hands. “I’m not volunteering.”

“Merlin.” Arthur lightly poked Merlin with his boot toe.

Merlin, who had wrapped himself in their single dry blanket and was alternating between sitting and standing and groaning every single time he switched between the two positions, glared at him. “What was that for?”

“You cook.”

“Me.”

“You.”

“Why me?” Merlin complained. “You never cook.”

“You said you wanted to be useful. I don’t want Percival’s cooking.”

Cutting off Merlin’s retort, Lancelot held up a hand. “Did you notice that?” he hissed.

Both Merlin and Arthur shut up.

“Notice what?” Elyan asked.

“The rain clouds. They disappeared.”

Arthur looked up at the sky and nearly blinded himself looking into the sun.

“Isn’t that a little...odd?” Percival asked hesitantly, trying to mask his unease and failing.

Arthur turned to Merlin. “Do you sense or feel or whatever it is that you do any fae around? Magic?” He willed his heart to remain calm.

Merlin scrunched his nose. “No? I don’t think so. But it is odd. We do like to change up the weather every now and then across the curtains, but not so much in your world.”

The way he said  _ your world  _ made Arthur shiver and the hairs on the back of his arms raise. “We need to keep a watch tonight.”

It was abnormal for a fae to be in the area and to feel the need to change the weather. He didn’t like it. 

Not one bit. 

…

Arthur dreamed of Camelot burning.

…

Although Arthur inwardly chafed at the amount of time it was taking them to reach their unknown destination, Merlin turned from a dying plant to a wilting one. Instead of curling up into a ball, he started using his magic again around their camps in the evening, claiming that they would never get anything done if it weren’t for him.

As long as their meals were edible, Arthur wasn’t going to complain. Much.

“This carrot is a little underdone,” he told Merlin.

From across the fire, Merlin scowled at him. “Do you know how hard it is to find carrots in the middle of nowhere, Arthur?”

“It would be less hard to find things to put in it if you used meat.”

With his spoon, Leon poked at the orange bits cemented in the thick stew. “Looks fine to me.”

“Dirt would look fine to you,” Elyan scoffed.

A loud screech broke out into the air.

Swearing, Arthur dropped the bowl. As he dropped to the ground, he reached for his sword, which had been lying by his side.

Into his “panic” (Arthur Pendragon would never admit to  _ panicking)  _ the sound of Merlin’s laughter broke, and he looked up.

Two feet in front of him sat an owl.

An owl that had not been there the past four or so days.

An owl that hated Arthur.

“What in fae is that  _ thing  _ doing here?” Arthur demanded. “I thought you left it back in Camelot!” 

Smugly, the owl began preening the feathers of its wing.

Before Arthur could do anything, Merlin scurried to that side of the campfire and held out his arm. “Aithusa, come here.”

With a short spurt of energy, the owl took flight and made the short distance to Merlin’s shoulder.

Arthur stared at the pair. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly. Or maybe not deadly but  _ painfully.”  _

“Merlin, I didn’t come all this way to face a dragon only to be mauled by your  _ ruddy owl.”  _

Politely, Lancelot cleared his throat.

The owl turned its head in a full circle.

That wasn’t natural.

“He’s harmless. Look, he likes Gwaine’s hair.”

Harmless, Arthur’s foot. That owl was bent on destroying Camelot. “I have enough to be concerned with without that beast trying to eat me _.”  _

“Come on, Arthur.” Across Leon’s face, a smirk was dancing, and Arthur didn’t like it one bit. “It’s a small owl. It won’t hurt to let it stay.”

It shouldn’t have been there. Although he sometimes forgot how sneaky the fae could be (namely when Arthur needed his socks washed), Arthur didn’t know how Merlin had kept it hidden for so many days. “Is it necessary?” he asked flatly.

After all, there was still a chance that it could fly straight back to Camelot.

“How much do you like the color of your hair, Arthur?” Merlin retorted, rubbing his hands together.

For one of the few times in his life, Arthur shut up.

…

“Stop.”

Since Merlin had been silent the past couple of days, Arthur jerked his horse to a stop in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Aithusa was perched on the fae’s shoulder, and as Merlin looked across the land in front of him, the owl’s head also turned.

Arthur couldn’t see any difference between the landscape here and the landscape thirty leagues back. The ground was cropped as though a flock or few had grazed it to its breaking point, and every once in a while, a bush dotted the ground. White, fluffy weeds were abundant, and their horses were forced to step over or avoid the occasional rock or bundle of thorns.

When Merlin sniffed the air, Arthur tried to not let his impatience show. Compared to Camelot, wherever in the blue blazes they were now was a trifle colder, and he couldn’t see any difference in the air except its slight crispness.

Jokingly, Gwaine asked if something had done its business downwind, and Merlin shushed him.

Like a hunting dog, the fae cocked his head to the side. Underneath him, his horse impatiently stomped its hoof, but aside from patting it lightly on its neck, he ignored it. 

After Arthur had mentally counted to  _ fifty-eight  _ in his head, Merlin relaxed slightly, and Aithusa shifted position. “Arthur, come on.”

“Only Arthur?” Lancelot questioned.

“Yes.”

Uneasily, Arthur frowned.

“Why him?” Percival asked.

Briefly, Merlin closed his eyes and sighed as though he were trying to regain control of something. 

“Because it would be better.”

With Lancelot, who was closest to him, Arthur shared a concerned glance. When Merlin had insisted on coming, Arthur hadn’t really thought about where they would be going or how they were actually going to deal with the dragon.

For Merlin to ask Arthur to accompany him alone, however, was unexpected.

Merlin was acting weird.

“Is there something  _ wrong?”  _ Arthur asked. “Aside from my father and Kilgharrah.”

“Not necessarily.”

Merlin, as cryptic as ever. Perhaps Arthur should have started seeing a fortune teller for clearer answers.

“Is there a reason we can’t come with you?” Leon asked. 

“Yes. I would prefer not to say.” Merlin grimmanced. “It’s nothing personal. Sorry. Just please trust me on this. If you want to deal with Kilgharrah, it has to be just Arthur and me.”

Even though he felt slightly uneasy, Arthur shrugged at Lancelot. “Set up camp. We will return as soon as possible.”

At least, he hoped. 

“Aithusa, off.” Merlin shrugged his shoulder, and the owl sent one last nasty look at Arthur before hopping from its perch on Merlin and taking flight. 

At least Arthur wouldn’t have to endure the rest of their journey with the owl sending him reproachful looks, setting him on edge, or attacking him.

He nudged his horse forward to join Merlin’s. “Care to tell me where we’re going  _ now?”  _ he asked as their horses drew side to side. “Or is that still a secret?”

Although Arthur expected Merlin to be ready with some snappy comeback, Merlin simply smiled grimly with the corner of his mouth.

Blasted fae and his secrets. 

Leaving the others behind, they moved forward.

Arthur kept looking back over his shoulder under the small camp they’d begun to set up was out of sight. “Now can you tell me?” he pressed. “You said you were looking for something?”

“I am. It’s like the tide. It once was here. It’s not anymore, but it still left a mark.”

What in fae? Arthur didn’t even try to hide his sigh, but Merlin didn’t notice.

“Is Kilgharrah going to sweep over top of us and burn us to a crisp?” Arthur asked. “I’m assuming that if he can track where I am in a castle, he is also capable of knowing where we are in the middle of nowhere.”

It wasn’t like they could  _ hide  _ since they were out in the open, and Arthur doubted that he would be able to make himself small enough to hide under one of the threadbare bushes.

“He isn’t. At least, I don’t  _ think  _ he is. You never know.”

Fantastic. What was keeping Kilgharrah from killing them out of spite?

“Can you just...order him away with your magic or something?”

Merlin snorted. “You really do know nothing about dragons, do you?”

Arthur stiffened. “I know  _ plenty  _ about dragons. I  _ am  _ a knight of Camelot, you know, and I  _ have  _ fought magical beasts before.”

“And yet you still missed the one in your basement.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“It was in your basement.”

“I know it was in my basement,  _ Mer _ lin.”

“Right. So  _ you  _ tell me all about them.” 

Arthur scoffed. “I don’t have to prove myself to  _ you.”  _ He wasn’t about to let Merlin know about this little oversight in his education.

“In other words, you don’t know,” Merlin concluded. “Dragons are much different from other magical beasts. For one, they have more brains. Another thing is...well, our magic doesn’t really affect them.”

Arthur jerked his horse to a halt. “What? Tell me I didn’t hear what I just heard. You can’t be serious. Merlin, why did you  _ ever  _ think that it would be a good idea to go after a dragon you can’t even fight  _ when you can use your magic?  _ Is there  _ anything  _ between your ears?”

It was downright reckless. Not only was Merlin endangering his own life, but he was also risking the lives of Arthur and the knights.

“I haven’t finished!” Merlin protested, circling his horse so that he was facing Arthur. “Will you just wait before you go and make assumptions?”

“What is there not to assume? You  _ just  _ said it,  _ Mer _ lin, and don’t tell me you’ve gone deaf with those ears.”

“Back to the ears,” Merlin grumbled. “Listen, this is hard enough as it is. Do you have to make it harder by being a prat? Let me finish my explanation.”

Since they’d already traveled so far, Arthur supposed it was only fair. He crossed his arms.

“Dragons are more sentient than your average...I don’t know serket, bastet, whatever. Sort of like trolls - although Kilgharrah would be offended if he ever knew that I compared him to a troll.”

“Ha.” Arthur smirked. After the destruction he’d laid upon Camelot, Arthur held no concern for Kilgharrah’s feelings.

“But since dragons are typically more powerful than your average troll and are resistant to magic, there’s sort of an...agreement, or binding contract, between the ruling family of the fae and the dragons. They  _ must  _ submit to the will and command of the head of the family.”

“So the fae who locked him up.”

“No. The  _ true  _ ruling family. It runs by the blood, not whoever’s sitting on the throne.”

Merlin looked down at his saddlehorn and fiddled with his reins. 

“Well, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Arthur dropped his arms. 

Surprise wrinkling his face, Merlin looked up. “What?”

“That you don’t know exactly where this fellow is or if he’s even still alive after the Purge and are trying to be cautious.” Really, Arthur would never understand fae. They made the biggest to-dos about the smallest details. “Not being in the know after being asleep for however long is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Goodness knew Arthur could barely keep up with the names of all the nobles in Camelot’s court, and there was much confusion over which duties belonged to whom after the Purge. He couldn’t imagine disappearing for so many years, dumping the knowledge from his head, and then being expected to recall them all.

“That’s...yeah.” Merlin wrinkled his nose at the ground as though Arthur had asked him if he wanted to try some of Gaius’s cough tincture for fun. “Yeah, sure. That’s it. We’re looking for the dragonlord.”

“Well, then, now that that’s settled.” It would be so much easier to locate this dragonlord now that Arthur knew what they were actually doing. “Can you sense his magic or whatever?”

“Sort of.”

“So he is still alive?”

This was better than Arthur could have hoped. Merlin was good at speaking with other fae, so all he had to do was convince the dragonlord that it was in his best interests to tell the dragon to leave Camelot alone. 

“I didn’t know until today.” Merlin seemed to be warming up slightly to the idea. “All of the confusion.”

“All right.” Perfectly understandable. “Do you know whether or not he is hostile?” Arthur wasn’t sure how much help he was going to be, but if Merlin wanted him there for the meeting or confrontation, there must have been a reason.

Perhaps Aithusa should have accompanied them, after all. 

“No,” Merlin said carefully, giving Arthur a strange look as though worms were sprouting from his skull. “Truth be told, I don’t know whether or not  _ he  _ knows I’m alive. It was somewhat risky, coming here, but I was hoping that Kilgharrah would give me the answer by leaving as quickly as he did.”

“So we have the element of surprise.”

Arthur liked the element of surprise.

“I doubt it. Kilgharrah is sneaky.”

That was putting it mildly. Not burning Camelot  _ at that time.  _

Every time he thought of the dragon, anger sparked in Arthur’s heart. If not for the dragon, they could have solved the matter with Lady Catrina and saved Uther’s mind.

Merlin sighed, his whole body deflating. “Well, let’s get it over with.”

“Don’t you like the dragonlord? Weren’t you on his ‘side’ during the Purge?” Arthur would have thought that would make them allies.

“I don’t know. Sort of. It’s complicated, Arthur.” 

_ Everything  _ with fae was complicated, including the current mess that they were in, but pointing that out would be useless to merlin.

Merlin broke their “stand off” by urging his horse forward. As he moved past Arthur, he pointed. “I  _ think  _ there’s a forest in that direction. The trees are especially bored and active in this part, so I think I can hear them.”

Again with the trees being alive. 

“All right.”

The land sloped upwards, and copses of trees as well as the borders of forests sprouted up. Although Arthur kept an eye on Merlin to see if he would veer off their path (Merlin was easily distracted by any and all kinds of flora and fauna), Merlin continued guiding his horse in a straight line along the edge. They encountered steeper climbs and ditches as well as thicker grass that Merlin’s horse tried to stop and eat until Merlin prodded it enough.

Since Arthur had expected their destination or the dragonlord to be relatively close, he grew irritated at Merlin. After a few hours of riding, it grew monotonous even if the land was changing around them, and his stomach started growling.

But he was determined to wait it out patiently.

“Merlin, where, for the love of  _ fae _ , is this dragonlord?”

Merlin didn’t need to answer. Before he could even open his mouth, a black shape soared over the sky above the bare strip in between two of the forests on which they were riding.

Instinctively, Arthur ducked.

Straightening, he looked upwards, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Blast it,” Merlin swore. “I hoped we would find him before we found Kilgharrah. Or Kilgharrah found us.”

The dragon did a second swoop above them, this time closer.

“Is he going to attack?” Arthur shouted above the frightened whinny of his horse.

“I don’t know! If it’s any consolation, he probably won’t kill you?” Uncertainty colored Merlin’s voice.

“ _ What?”  _ If that were the case, Arthur was going to turn his horse around and get  _ out  _ of there.

“He won’t kill you,” Merlin repeated more confidently as he dismounted from his horse.

“How can you be so ruddy certain?” Arthur demanded as he followed suit.

“Because you’re the Once and Future King!” Merlin hollered over his shoulder, leading his horse forward as though a murderous dragon wasn’t drawing nearer and nearer with each pass. “He probably only wants to knock us up a bit!”

“Merlin! Merlin, what does that even mean?  _ Merlin! _ ”

His manservant ignored him.

As his horse remained still, he walked farther down the path between the two forests, his arms hanging limply by his sides as though he were a ghost.

In case he had been somehow remotely enchanted, Arthur hurried after him. 

“Somewhere. He knows I’m here,” Merlin muttered under his breath. “He has to.”

The forests on either side of them were too quiet, downright silent in their inactivity. The lack of noise set Arthur on edge. 

“Listen-”

Arthur was going to suggest that they remount and head farther up at a much quicker pace in order to avoid when Kilgharrah attacked.

“Merlin, duck!” he yelled as the dragon swooped down.

Instead of waiting for Merlin to realize what was happening, Arthur tackled his manservant. 

The dragon’s talons missed them by a foot.

Arthur rolled to the side.

“Kilgharrah!” Merlin yelled.

If the dragon, which was higher in the sky once again, heard Merlin, it did not acknowledge him.

And Arthur thought  _ fae  _ held grudges. 

“Can you do anything?” Arthur asked, withdrawing his sword as their horses bolted in terror.

Merlin began muttering in the language of magic.

As though he was trying to decide which was the best way to eat them, Kilgharrah was circling again. 

Strangely, Arthur had once thought the beast more noble than this pettiness.

Merlin finished his sentence, and a shock of magic burst out from where he and Arthur were lying.

“What was that?”

“That was the equivalent of knocking on someone’s door only a little less polite.”

The dark shape blotting out the sun that was Kilgharrah grew bigger. Arthur prepared to run, grabbing Merlin by the arm to pull him to his feet, but the dragon’s advances halted.

In midair, it hovered, flapping its wings.

Arthur halted. “Did it work?”

“I think so.” Merlin picked himself off the ground from where Arthur had tackled him and turned around, scanning the forest.

On edge, Arthur watched him as he waited for a sign of what he was supposed to do.

Flying towards the upper regions of the mountains that Arthur and Merlin had found themselves on, Kilgharrah disappeared.

“He is coming,” Merlin announced solemnly.

“Do I need to do something?”

“Yes. Shut up if I tell you to.”

Arthur bristled. Just who was in charge between the two of them, anyway? If this dragonlord was the equivalent of a lord or councilor back in Uther’s court, Arthur  _ technically  _ outranked him. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

Although Arthur didn’t hear anything, Merlin jerked his head to the left, so Arthur looked in that direction.

Through the forest, a lone figure was making its way towards them.

“Fae,” Merlin reminded him before it was within earshot.

As the figure approached, Merlin raised a hand in sort of a weird, awkward wave.

If Merlin had not told him who the fae was before, Arthur would have thought him to be an aging human. His hair, which fell to his shoulders, was slightly curly and streaked with grey, and his face was worn and sorrowful as if he had seen one too many tragedies. His eyes were as dark as his beard, and his clothes were worn like any mountain man’s. 

“Balinor,” Merlin greeted him.

As he crossed the last thicket of forest grass and underbrush, Balinor said nothing, squinting at Merlin.

In front of them, he stopped.

“Thank you for calling off Kilgharrah,” Merlin said, almost oblivious to the empty, anguished look Balinor was giving him. “A thorn was in his claw.”

“No, there wasn’t,” Arthur corrected in case Balinor was alarmed by Merlin’s statement. “He was just angry.”

“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin directed him pleasantly.

“So you are alive,” Balinor said, his voice thick and harsh.

“Yes.” Merlin accompanied the word with a nod.

“How…?”

For a second, Balinor’s eyes flicked over to Arthur, but his gaze returned to cement on Merlin as though Merlin were a figment of his imagination.

“I think,” Merlin said carefully, “that we need to talk. Do you have any tea? I think I’m going to faint.”


	19. Guess what, Arthur? Surprise!

“You smell like blood,” Balinor remarked gruffly as he led them through the trees. “How was he injured?”

“Serket sting,” Arthur answered. 

Although Merlin was making good use of Arthur’s shoulder, he seemed determined to stay conscious for the rest of the conversation despite his earlier statement.

“Shouldn’t have used magic,” Balinor remonstrated quietly.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, but Arthur’s tackling didn’t  _ help _ .” Merlin’s voice was peeved.

Guiltily, Arthur winced. He’d completely forgotten about the wound in Merlin’s back in the heat of the moment.

“Kilgharrah can heal most of the rest of that.” Balinor cast a glance up at the sky.

“He tried to scare us to death,” Arthur pointed out. “I don’t want him near us.”

“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin muttered under his breath. “Do you want tea or not?”

Tilting his head towards the sky, Balinor let forth a stream of guttural words that made Arthur jump.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. 

Balinor’s eyes slid over to Arthur. “Calling Kilgharrah to heal Merlin.”

Arthur opened his mouth. Then, he closed it. Although he was itching to take control of the situation, he had a feeling that neither Balinor nor Merlin would appreciate it.

By the time they reached Balinor’s cabin, the forest was dark, and a singular wind arose, twisting around the cabin and rattling the wooden shutters.

It may have intended to be a bozy abode, but Arthur felt chills run up and down his spine.

With a single word of magic, Balinor lit the fire in the blackened fireplace.

“Sit down,” he told Merlin, pointing at a chair.

Arthur ducked underneath the herbs hanging from the ceiling and pushed Merlin towards the chair

The cabin was sparsely furnished; in one corner of the room, a bed with a thick, homey quilt that did not match their hosts gruff attitude was pushed, and aside from a wash basin and a cabinet, the only other furniture in the room was the table that Merlin sat at.

“You’re going to fit the dragon in here?” Arthur asked, casting a glance around for another chair.

There wasn’t one.

Balinor shot him a scathing look, but Arthur wasn’t fazed because he had seen worse from Merlin.

“Why couldn’t your dragon just heal Merlin in the first place instead of dumping him off on Freya?” Arthur questioned, crossing his arms and leaning up against the closed door to make himself more comfortable. “He was obviously acquainted with him and knew that he was injured.”

A thud from outside as the dragon landed.

Arthur shifted. Maybe the door wasn’t the best spot.

“Kilgharrah does what he pleases. Perhaps he did not see fit to do it at that time. Besides, I do not order him around.”

“But you could.”

“Arthur, please shut up,” Merlin broke in, a miserable look plastered on his face. Arthur wondered just how much magic he had been using over the past few days to make himself appear healthier than he was.

Squatting, Balinor poked at the fire with a stick before adding another log.

“Wait here,” he told Arthur, standing up and crossing back over to Merlin.

Although Merlin, dead-tired at this point, accepted Balinor’s help back outside, he looked less than thrilled.

For the next minute, Arthur paced around the small cabin before he heard a thump against the door.

Opening it, he peeked out. Kilgharrah was nowhere to be seen, but Merlin was unconscious on the ground.

“What did you  _ do  _ to him?”

At Arthur’s ignorance, Balinor looked annoyed. “Healing takes energy.”

Arthur had assumed Merin was done with sleeping after all the time he had spent unconscious in Camelot.

After Merlin was settled underneath a quilt (that did  _ nothing _ to block out his snoring), Arthur awkwardly stood in the middle of the cabin as he watched Balinor go about making some stew. Like Merlin, he seemed to avoid any kind of meat.

Although Merlin had told him to shut up, he had never instructed Arthur what to do otherwise. 

Fortunately, Balinor wasn’t interested in talking to Arthur, going about his tasks as silent as any proper castle servant.

Although Arthur was itching to question the dragonlord about the Court and what had happened during the Purge, he had a feeling that it would not go as well as he hoped without Merlin awake to mediate. He settled on a different topic of conversation.

“So…” he said. “I hear you and Merlin are good friends.”

Balinor snorted. “Is that what he told you?”

“No. I assumed-”

“Don’t assume,” Balinor interrupted roughly but not unkindly. 

“Ah.” 

Balinor pointed a ladle at the only chair. “You can sit.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if this was an order or an invite, but he took a seat. For a few seconds, he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “How long is he going to sleep?”

Balinor shrugged.

Arthur was not used to being around a non-hostile fae that wasn’t chatting his ears off; the silence was grating on his brain. “Right.” He drummed his fingers some more.

“You can sleep on the floor,” Balinor said, “if you’re tired. Blanket’s in the chest.”

Did Arthur really want to go to sleep around Balinor? Even if Merlin considered him perfectly safe, Kilgharrah was less friendly towards Arthur. On the other hand, offending a dragonlord probably wasn’t the best career choice.

“Thank you.”

Balinor nodded.

It, Arthur decided, was going to be a long evening.

…

Wilt a jolt, Arthur woke.

A hand was resting on his shoulder.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but his head was nestled in his arms, and his cheek was pressed into the table’s surface.

“Merlin!” In surprise, he blinked and used his hand to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks. Did you get acquainted with Balinor last night?” Half a smile danced in Merlin’s eyes even though his face remained neutral.

“No really.” Arthur scowled. “He’s as quiet as you’re wordy.”

Merlin slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “That’s just the way he is.”

Creaking, the door to the cabin opened, and Merlin moved away from Arthur to the fire, which he ignited with a hand motion.

Covered in a light snow, Balinor stomped into the cabin.

“It’s  _ snowing?”  _

Arthur found that hard to believe. Although the air had been tinged with cold, Arthur would have remembered if it were freezing enough to elicit snow from the clouds.

Balinor gave Arthur another one of his looks before dumping wood on the floor next to the hearth.

“Breakfast,” he said. “And then what you came here for.” 

Sometime in the middle of the night, two more chairs had appeared.

Arthur sat quietly through breakfast (which, in his opinion, wasn’t breakfast at all because it consisted of strange fruit that shouldn’t have been able to grow in that climate or existed at all).

“What is this?” he asked, holding up a green slice with his fingers.

It was slimy and filled with tiny black seeds. He wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t poisonous, but Merlin had already dug in with gusto.

Merlin swallowed. “Kiwi.”

“ _ Kiwi?  _ What kind of idiotic name is that?”

Merlin shrugged. “It’s just what it’s called.”

Balinor made no comment, eating each piece in twice the time that it took Merlin or Arthur to. It was almost as though he were dreading the conversation even though Merlin was acting as though it were a typical morning in Camelot and they were about to discuss the state of the weather.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at his manservant. Perhaps Merlin was putting up a charade because he didn’t want to converse with Balinor, either.

Eventually, Balinor pushed his handcrafted bowl forward on the table. 

At first, Arthur thought that Balinor was offering some and started planning a polite way to turn the offer down, but Balinor laced his fingers together and braced his elbows on the table.

“So.”

Merlin also distanced himself from his bowl. 

“We’ve come to ask you to call off Kilgharrah,” Arthur led when neither of them spoke. “He is destroying villages and will proceed to burn the last of Camelot unless you do so.”

“Why should I?”

The question was flat, void of any emotion, and as steady as Balinor’s gaze.

Arthur gestured to the side. “Because Kilgharrah is destroying Camelot! He burned down most of my castle, killed a troll that possibly enchanted my father, and left us with the clean up.” 

“That is not my problem.”

“Why not?” Arthur at the same time Merlin said, “Correct.”

Arthur glared at Merlin. Was he trying to help their case or not?

“It isn’t your problem,” Merlin continued, “not  _ technically  _ if you want to be like that. Camelot doesn’t owe you anything after what happened.”

“ _ Mer _ lin,” Arthur hissed. “I don’t think you’re helping. We need him to  _ stop  _ Kilgharrah from burning Camelot, not encourage it.”

Balinor leaned forward farther. “You are Uther Pendragon’s son.”

“Yes.”

“Your mother died at your childbirth.”

“Yes.” Not liking the sudden change or topic of conversation, Arthur leaned back slightly to put some distance between himself and the dragonlord.

“That Uther helped lock up Kilgharrah.”

“Yes.”

Where was he heading?

“Do you know  _ why?”  _

“Because he believed fae to be a threat,” Arthur answered with confidence. Merlin had told him all about this.

“Because his own fool’s bargain cost his wife her life.”

In his seat, Merlin stiffened.

“What?” 

“I was  _ ambassador  _ to Camelot’s court, and your father asked for my help during your delivery. Because of the laws of magic, I was forced to choose between saving you or your mother. When Ygraine died, Uther blamed me although I was blind to it. He aided in the murder of my friends and family. He slaughtered the other dragons and imprisoned the last of them. So tell me, Arthur Pendragon, why should I bother lifting a  _ finger  _ to help Camelot?”

Stunned, Arthur braced himself against the table. “I…”

In the corner of his vision, he saw Merlin glaring at Balinor. “Why in  _ fae  _ would you bring that up now?”

“I think it’s ruddy important to know,” Arthur snapped.

His mother had  _ died  _ because of…

Arthur wasn’t quite sure whether to be angry at magic or his father or Balinor or two of them or all three of them at once.

Was magic to blame?

The whole thing seemed  _ wrong. _

“What does it change in your life?” Merlin asked. “Your mother is still dead. You are still alive. The Purge still happened. Both sides still hate each other. This changes  _ nothing  _ about your life. Balinor, I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to muddle the matter with your own grudges. Frankly, I had to put up with Arthur for several weeks - months, even - before he came to his senses about fae-”

“Excuse me?”

“-and it was more exhausting than trying to catch a frog in a bog.”

“What do you think it was for me, a bed of roses?” Arthur scoffed.

“No. But you were a prat, and don’t start being a prat about this now. Both sides were in the wrong for different things.”

Although he hated to see it or admit it, Merlin was right.

That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, however, He crossed his arms.

Slightly, Merlin angled his position in his seat towards Balinor. “Arthur is kindly asking you to stop the dragon attacks, and I am  _ kindly  _ reminding you that grain spills from a hole in the bag.”

Balinor’s cheek twitched. “Shouldn’t you be as angry as I am?”

“Maybe.” Merlin placed the tips of his fingers against the edge of the table.

“I see.” Balinor turned his head and stared at the wall of the cabin.

Although Arthur wanted to debate with Balinor in an attempt to convince him that this was the best course of action for all, Merlin lightly kicked him under the table and gave the smallest shake of his head.

“Very well,” Balinor agreed, the two words sounding as if they had drained a great deal of energy for him. “Since you asked.”

Merlin smiled, but it did not reach his eyes or the rest of his face. “Thank you.”

Needlessly, he kicked Arthur underneath the table again.

“Thank you. I will not forget it,” Arthur vowed.

Balinor’s eyes slid over him again, either disapproving or a touch of judgmental. “That is not all you came for.”

“Correct,” Merlin said although he seemed annoyed at Balinor’s choice of phrase. “I came to ask your help in disenchanting King Uther.”

Balinor stiffened.

Speaking of kings...

Arthur remembered that Merlin had said that the dragonlord was a part of the rightful ruling family.

“Wait a second. Shouldn’t you be  _ dead?”  _ he blurted out. “You know, when there’s an argument over the throne, the winning family usually  _ kills  _ the other.” Now that he thought about it, the fact that they had just waltzed up to the mountain and found a deposed king was rather  _ suspicious _ .

“I hid,” Balinor answered stiffly, his eyes flashing. 

Inwardly, Arthur scoffed. “If this family was powerful enough to overthrow  _ yours,  _ surely they would have sensed your magic or something. Merlin found you easily enough.”

“ _ Merlin  _ is different.”

Well, Arthur found that hard to believe.

Was Balinor part of the fae attempting to overtake Camelot? Was he reluctant to help him and Merlin because he was actually fighting against them?

“So why didn’t you try to find Balinor sooner?” Arthur posed, turning to Merlin. “While you were living in the forest?”

Merlin shrugged. “I didn’t try to find  _ any  _ fae.”

Arthur couldn’t understand either of them.

Something weird was going on, and Merlin wasn’t helping him discover what it was.

His thoughts must have shown on his face because Merlin kicked him under the table again. Glaring, Arthur reached down to rub his shin.

Abruptly, Merlin stood. “Balinor. May I speak with you outside?”

“What’s wrong with here?” Arthur demanded. There was nothing that couldn’t be said in front of him.

At least, he assumed.

“Nothing is wrong with here. I would just like to have a private word with...Balinor.” Merlin gave him a look.

Arthur threw up his hands. “Why not? It’s not like  _ my father  _ is the one who’s enchanted, here.”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

Warily, Balinor also stood and followed Merlin outside the cabin door.

For the first thirty seconds, Arthur drummed his fingers on the top of the table. When the two of them did not immediately return, he got to his feet and began to pace the length of the cabin. Muffled voices came from outside - Merlin’s steadily growing louder although Arthur couldn’t make out what he was saying yet.

After moving to the door, Arthur pressed his ear against it, and he caught some parts of their conversation.

_ “Rather  _ selfish... _ seen more...from Arthur than you...hiding all this time…” _

_ “...do not know what the years…” _

_ “-a decade under a tree-” _

_ “-think it’s going to do any good?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “-and Future King.” _

A period of silence followed.

Then, from Merlin, his words clearer than everything that had come before:  _ “You weren’t there. All those years. I  _ died.  _ Gaius told me Mum followed, and I think I remember parts of it now.” _

Was Gaius right?  _ Was  _ Merlin actually his nephew? But that didn’t make any sense - Merlin was fae and Gaius was undoubtedly human. He wouldn’t have passed for so long in Uther’s court if even the smallest drop of fae blood ran through his veins.

_ “Uther had his chance.”  _

Arthur frowned.

A bit of wind picked up around the cabin, distorting their words once more.

_ “...doesn’t make it  _ right-”

_ “Merlin, why do you-” _

_ “-gave my life, would do it - more at stake than you real-” _

Frustrated, Arthur spun away from the door - and just in time.

A few seconds later, Merlin came storming back into the cabin, almost as angry as when he had refused to let Arthur fire him.

“What  _ happened? _ Did Balinor agree to help us?” 

His father’s sanity - and therefore the leadership of Camelot - depended on the dragonlord.

Merlin gave him another look akin to the disapproval of a mother duck. “Shut up, Arthur.”

What in fae was going on?

…

The remainder of the day was frosty - physically and verbally.

Merlin refused to fill in the blanks from his conversation with Balinor, and Arthur wasn’t able to ask too many questions without revealing that he had been eavesdropping like a castle servant.

He was sick of waiting, and he guessed that the knights would be slightly worried about what had happened to them by now. He couldn’t, however, think of a way to reach them without bothering Balinor or his dragon.

Neither option was promising.

For the entire day, the dragonlord stayed as far away from his own cabin as possible. Only when dark fell and the wind picked up tenfold did he return, startling both Arthur and Merlin when he rapped on the door.

The lazy fae that he was, Merlin completely ignored it, forcing Arthur to get up and open it for their host.

As Balinor entered, he stomped dry dirt off his boots and removed his coat. With caution, he eyed the two of them, but his lips remained pressed short.

Even though he had not been the one to argue with the elder fae, Arthur refused to be cowed as he took his seat once more.

“You’ll leave in the morning,” he told them.

In an instant, Arthur was on his feet again. “You cannot do that. Merlin can’t heal my father, and according to him, you may be the only one who can.”

Although Merlin had not directly stated that, hadn’t he heavily implied that they were finding Balinor to fix Uther? If he couldn’t, why had they stayed after extracting his promise to preserve the rest of the land from his dragon?

“I am not going to heal your father,” Balinor stated with finality. “As powerful as I was, I am not able to do that. But there is hope, Arthur Pendragon. You look at the tree when there is a forest ahead of you.”

Arthur clenched his fists.

“You’re not going to do anything?” Merlin asked, incredulous. He looked a second away from protesting, and for once, Arthur was glad of the fae’s stubbornness.

“I did not say that,” Balinor corrected.

Merlin snorted. “But you didn’t say it, either.”

“I am going to do  _ something,”  _ Balinor stated carefully, “but perhaps not what you think.”

After scrutinizing him, Merlin seemed to accept this. 

Arthur did not. “How do we know this isn't a trap? You were gone all day - how do we know you weren’t conspiring with other fae?”

“He isn’t,” Merlin said, followed by Balinor’s quiet, “I’m not.”

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. Being in the room with one fae was bad enough, but he was agitated from yet another day doing nothing and tired of hearing half-promises. “Can’t you ever just say what you mean or what you’re going to do for  _ once?  _ I’m not fae! I don’t know  _ half  _ of your politics, and I can’t figure out a ruddy thing unless you tell me.”

“Well, at least you’re finally being honest,” Merlin muttered under his breath.

Arthur glared at him. “My father is going insane over a dead troll. Who knows what else is going on in Camelot while the rest of us are  _ traipizing _ in the woods on a winter vacation? I don’t have the time to  _ waste _ with all of this. Do  _ neither  _ of you see the seriousness of this?”

For a moment, Balinor considered him, and Arthur thought for  _ once  _ he had knocked some sense into a fae. But then, he turned for the door. With his hand on the knob, he paused, and looked back at Merlin, his face solemn and sad. “Good night, Merlin.”

At the final tone of his voice, a tiny shiver worked its way down Arthur’s spine.

It was as nothing mattered to Balinor.

Bailinor left.

A few minutes later, Arthur heard the roar of a dragon.

Running a hand through his hair, He looked at Merlin. “Do we follow him?”

Merlin’s face was troubled. “No, I don’t think so.”

“So you’re simply giving up?” If he didn’t know it was a fruitless venture, Arthur would have tracked Balinor down across the mountainside and  _ forced  _ him to return to Camelot to disenchant his father.

“He was upset,” Merlin said, staring into the fireplace. “His mood was different.”

“Well, he was very rude,” Arthur snapped. “Isn’t that something you’re always going on about?” The dynamic between Merlin and all of the other fae they had encountered was strikingly different from the relationship between him and Balinor, discounting Freya, of course. For the entirety of their stay, Merlin had seemed irritated on top of the strange bits of conversation that Arthur had overheard.

“Balinor was king of the Court - you  _ have  _ to be a little rude to keep everyone in line, Arthur. It’s how your father has managed so well for so long.” Merlin winced. “Sorry. Now is probably not the best time…”

Arthur went to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. Sighing, he rested his head in his hands. A headache was forming behind his eyes. “Merlin, what in  _ fae  _ are we going to do?”

“I’ve got a strange feeling,” Merlin said, reaching a hand and running it along the stalks of herbs hanging from the ceiling. “Like something is coming that we’re not prepared for. A winter storm or an avalanche that’s going to crush us.”

“And how does that help?”

“Everything looks better in the morning. It’s dark now, but at least when the sun comes up, we’ll be able to see which direction we’re supposed to run.”

Despite what Merlin seemed to think, the proverb did not comfort Arthur in the slightest.

…

In the morning, Arthur woke barely before the sun had begun to poke its way through the cracks in the walls.

It felt empty to Arthur, as though all of the life had been sucked out of the cabin in the middle of the night.

As he pulled on his socks, he shivered.

“Merlin?” he tested the stale air. “ _ Merlin!”  _ When no one answered, he tried, “Balinor!” 

Nothing.

His boots were on by now, so he ventured outside. Stretching, he surveyed the now snowless landscape surrounding the cabin. It was slightly warmer now, almost cheery.

Blast it, where was Merlin? If Balinor wasn’t going to lend them any aid, they needed to be on the road as soon as possible. As it was, they had already wasted precious moments as they waited, and the longer Uther remained enchanted, the worse it would be. They had struck a dead end and needed to move on.

“Merlin!”

The name echoed off the sides of the mountain.

Arthur did not remember an echo before.

Briefly, he wondered if shouting was a bad idea. If Kilgharrah heard him, who knew if the beast would decide to seriously maim or kill Arthur while its master’s back was turned.

Arthur kept his calls quieter.

Eventually, after forty-five minutes of searching, Arthur found Merlin standing alone about twenty yards from an outcropping that looked over a portion of the mountainside.

At this point, Arthur felt like giving Merlin a piece of his mind. It was one thing to admire nature, but when they were pressed for time, it was downright foolish and inconsiderate.

“ _ Mer _ lin-”

At the sound of Arthur’s voice, Merlin twitched but did not otherwise move.

“For the love of  _ fae-”  _ Arthur began again.

“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin snapped.

In surprise at the raw emotion in Merlin’s tone, Arthur took a step back. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did Balinor say something to you? Listen, I’m sorry if I came across as somewhat... _ rude  _ last night, but Balinor  _ wasn’t  _ being helpful one bit, and we’re-”

“Balinor was plenty helpful,” Merlin interrupted, “but neither of us  _ realized  _ it.”

Was this more fae speak? Was Merlin using a metaphor? Because Arthur couldn’t name one thing that Balinor had been helpful in past forbidding Kilgharrah to attack someone else and putting up lodgings, and the latter was common courtesy that Arthur had received from people of lesser rank than the deposed king of fae.

“Where is he, anyway?” Arthur asked, annoyed. He doubted it would be any use convincing Merlin of that fact, and arguing with him would only waste more precious time.

Over his shoulder, Merlin sent Arthur a twisted, annoyed look. His eyes were bloodshot as though he had been crying.

Seeing Merlin crying made Arthur feel uncomfortable and awkward. Although Arthur liked to tease Merlin for having the emotions of a girl, he had also only seen Merlin cry when he was emotionally upset to somewhat of an extreme.

Or when something had died, like the bunny the gardeners had found in the palace garden.

Arthur was stuck.

“There.” While he wiped his nose with the back of one hand, Merlin pointed to the outcropping with his other.

Now that Arthur’s attention was drawn to it more, he noticed a lump at the edge. It looked like Balinor was about to slide off.

“Gracious,” Arthur swore, starting forward, “we have to stop him before he does something stupid.”

Merlin caught his arm. “Whatever you’re thinking isn’t going to do any good. He’s already dead.”

Arthur’s hand flew to where his sword should have been, but he had left it back in the cabin with the rest of his chainmail because it was burdensome.

“Who did it?” Twisting around, he scanned the area. He would have thought that with a dragon, Balinor would be safe from most attacks, but if fae could subdue a dragon without magic and by other means, they were perfectly capable of sneaking past him and killing the dragonlord. Arthur didn’t know. At best, the intricate way fae worked was confusing.

“No one did it,” Merlin answered flatly.

“What? That doesn’t make any  _ sense.  _ How do you know he’s dead? Did you go up to him?”

“I can’t feel his magic anymore. While we were here, it became kind of familiar to me again, but now it’s gone. Completely.”

Was Merlin just going to  _ stand  _ there?

They needed to do something - bury the body, find out exactly what had happened to him -  _ anything  _ other than just linger there like paralyzed  _ buffoons.  _ A dead fae was a serious matter.

“What killed him? Can you tell that from here? Are we in immediate danger?” Arthur looked to the sky. Kilgharrah wasn’t in sight, but he could easily reach them. If he was aware of Balinor’s death, he-

“He died on his own.”

“What?” 

“He died on his own,” Merlin repeated in the same flat voice. “There isn’t anything you and I can do about it.”

“He died on his own,” Arthur echoed Merlin. “So, what, he just decided he didn’t want to live anymore?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why would he want to  _ die?”  _

“To be helpful,” Merlin practically spat.

To Arthur, it seemed more that Balinor was a coward trying to get out of dealing with the mess his own people had started.

“Arthur, who are you now?”

At the abrupt change of topic conversation, Arthur frowned. “Arthur Pendragon, crown prince of Camelot. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Since your father’s gone mad.”

Arthur tried to ascertain what Merlin was getting at from his face, but the fae turned to the side, putting his back to Arthur.

“Regent,” Arthur said slowly.

“But not king?” Merlin asked.

“No. To be instated as king, the council of lords would have to determine that Uther’s mind is gone beyond recovery or repair.” It was a slightly precarious position - any of the lords could object to Arthur as king and throw the country into turmoil over succession.

“But Uther would still be the true king until he died. He would never lose that no matter what happened.”

“I suppose you could say it like that, but I don’t see what that matters or applies  _ here.”  _

“Balinor is dead,” Merlin said, a slight tremor coming on his frame as though the concept were gradually sinking in.

“Yes.” Arthur was a second away from tearing his hair out in frustration. “Listen, I’m sorry that he died. Even if you two seemed to be at odds with each other over something, you must have cared for him in some way. I didn’t realize you were that close.” 

He and Uther were not terribly close, but he would still be upset if his father died. Perhaps Balinor had been, before the Purge, some sort of father-figure to Merlin, and Arthur had completely overlooked that in their overactions. Fae were confusing, however.

Visibly, Merlin let out a sigh. “Arthur…there’s something I haven’t told you.”

Arthur stiffened. “What?”

“Nothing  _ bad.  _ But nothing  _ good,  _ either. At least, I don’t consider it of any importance, but I think it’s going to be.”

“Say it plainly, Merlin.”

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was quiet as though he were both trying to control his emotions and ashamed at what he was about to confess. “I am Balinor’s son.”

A leaf could have fallen half a mile away, and the sound would have filled the emptiness that stretched between them.

Arthur wanted to ask Merlin to repeat the words because there was  _ no  _ way he had heard them correctly the first time. 

“What did you say?” 

Merlin turned around. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but his jaw was stubbornly set, and his voice was steady as he said,

“I am Balinor’s son. Upon his death, I am now the last dragonlord and the rightful heir to the throne of the fae Court.”


End file.
